


How to Train Your Dolphin

by Gohstwriter_Red



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Dolphin trainer Keith, M/M, Rivals to Lovers, Voltron, Voltron mermaid au, cute Klance, dolphin trainer au, dolphin trainer lance, full color illustraions, klance, lance and keith are both idiots, mermaid au, mermaid keith
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 99,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24256636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gohstwriter_Red/pseuds/Gohstwriter_Red
Summary: Lance is a dolphin trainer at the Altea Bay Aquarium and Marine Life Center. He loves the animals he works with. Being a dolphin trainer was his childhood dream and he worked hard to make it happen. Point being, Lance knows his stuff. So when some hot-shot amateur “dolphin whisperer” shows up and starts getting in his way, he’s understandably not too happy.Keith is a mermaid who has been living in a trailer park off highway 4 and selling art down at the beach. But just because he lives on land these days doesn’t mean he isn’t drawn back to the water now and then. The ocean is still his world. So when he spots a beached dolphin, he knows he needs to do something. Even if that means irritating the rescue team from the aquarium, and one Lance McClain in particular.……………………………………………..Dolphin Trainer X Mermaid AU……………………………………………..Full color Illustrations by AshenAngel2.......................................................Warning for swearing/language
Relationships: Allura/Shiro (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 109
Kudos: 436





	1. Beached

**Author's Note:**

> [Today 6:45]  
> Nota_fucking_Mermaid: I still don’t trust your aquarium fish prison  
> That*BIONIC*man: aww Keith, I thought we did good D=  
> Nota_fucking_Mermaid: tbd  
> Nota_fucking_Mermaid: And your coworker is an asshole by the way  
> That*BIONIC*man: So are you  
> That*BIONIC*man: But Lance really isn’t that bad once you get to know him  
> That*BIONIC*man: he’s funny as hell and he really has a heart for the animals ;)  
> Nota_fucking_Mermaid: What is that winky face for?

# Chapter 1, Beached

Keith takes his earbuds out and stuffs them into his jean pockets with his phone. It’s only the polite thing to do. Even though he sees customers as a necessary evil, they are necessary. The whole point of selling his art is, after all, to actually sell it. Which it _won’t_ if he isn’t polite. He’s learned by trial and error that no matter how good his paintings are, he won’t be able to sell them if he doesn’t talk to people. And talk _nicely_ to them. The reality of the situation rankles him, but there really isn’t anything for it.

He smiles politely at the middle-aged woman as she flips through the canvases he’s already painted. They’ve been propped up against a couple of his larger paint buckets, the bottom edges burrowed slightly in the sand to keep them from slipping.

“Do you always paint the ocean?” she asks.

Small talk. He dislikes small talk intensely.

But he turns away from the mermaid he’s painting, sticks the paintbrush through his ponytail for safe keeping, and gives the woman his full attention. Because she’s actually going to buy something; unlike some annoying beach goers who simply seem to like to bother him with a list of dumb questions. He used to read people’s minds to figure out which was which, but now he can simply tell. Body language. Facial tells. The purse with a copy of a Nicolas Sparks book peeking out. He can just tell.

So, yes, he’s going to put up with small talk. Shiro would be proud.

“I don’t know about that,” he says conversationally, “but I do mostly just paint the ocean. Seems to be what sells, and I’ve got to eat ya know?” He folds his arms over his chest and ignores the tacky paint on his hands and forearms. His jacket has seen worse than paint.

The woman laughs. “So you’re a businessman as well as an artist.”

She’s teasing him. At least he thinks she is. He doesn’t care. Not as long as she buys a painting and gets out of his hair.

“I’m a realist at any rate,” he says.

There’s a pause of silence as she continues to flip through the canvases. She looks through paintings of deep blue waves, crested white, with blots of greenish seafoam. Mermaids that double as vintage pin-ups. Beachscapes where the sea bleeds into grey horizon, the morning mist blurring the line between ocean and sky. And past some of his more abstract work; blue and white shapes gauged in a sea of thick paint with a pallet knife.

She picks up one of the abstract paintings to look at it more closely. Her thin blond eyebrows come together as she scrutinizes the piece. But it’s not the rough textured canvas she’s interested in. It never is.

“What are these markings?” she asks, now genuinely curious.

Keith is prepared for the question. He sells a lot of these pieces.

“Mermaid runes,” he says. He gives her one of his nicer smiles.

But she won’t believe him. They never do.

As he expects, she laughs again. “What to the _runes_ say?”

Keith has two options here: one, tell the truth, two, give her the artistic answer she expects. He goes with option two. “They say different things to different people. To some, it’s poetry. To others, it’s a creed.” He shrugs. “I’m an artist. I have to let my work speak for itself.”

That’s the artist answer.

The truth is a little more complicated.

Keith is a mermaid. There’s no two ways about it.

He doesn’t really _look_ like it. He’s got two legs right now. And he’s been living on land for seven years at this point, so he does know how to use them. He speaks fluent English. Shiro says he has a mermaid accent, describes it as softly melodic and Australian, but Keith doesn’t know what he means by that. And he keeps pretty well covered up so any little red scales that flare up on his legs sometimes are out of sight.

He looks perfectly human.

He acts perfectly human.

He’s even got a job like a human. Well, he makes paintings and sells them at the beach, but that’s still _a_ job. Albeit, not a high paying job, but at least he’s not a freeloader on Shiro’s couch. Besides, art keeps him out of trouble. Theoretically.

These abstract paintings with mermaid runes etched into the textured canvas could, _possibly_ , get him into trouble one day. Because the graceful pictorial symbols, the runes, aren’t just something he conjured out of his artistic imagination. It’s a _real_ language. One with meaning and history. It’s called Kii-toa-kii, the written language of the southern hemisphere mermaids. And it’s completely translatable.

Keith doesn’t tell people that of course. He doesn’t translate his art for them. And this piece? There’s not a chance he’s going to translate it either. Aside from the fact that he doesn’t want people to suddenly know how to read mermaid, translating this piece would mean losing the beauty and mystery of the painting. He made it during one of his inspirational dry spells and had ended up translating the owner’s manual of his 2006 corolla into mermaid runes. When he looks at the painting, he reads: “to open the hood, pull up on lever with the hood icon located beside the emergency break.” Not the stuff great art is made of.

But the humans seem like it. Where Keith sees words—often his laundry list or a BBQ sauce recipe these days—humans see a mystery. They’re often intrigued by the runes which appear to be a more curvaceous blend of Egyptian hieroglyphics and ancient cuneiform. The symbols are beautiful. Objectively. Even if Keith has a tendency to abuse his people’s written language by inventing new symbols for the things he finds on land.

Sometimes he thinks selling his culture and the language of his people to humans is a kind of betrayal to his heritage. But those thoughts never last long. His people betrayed him first. The mermaids from his pod left him for dead, left him to beach himself under a dock in Clear Water Florida, without care and without remorse. So, if he can make his living—if he can survive by exploiting their art—he will. It’s become his way of saying “fuck you” to the mermaids who abandon him as a pup.

The woman stares at the painting for another minute before tucking a bit of graying blond hair behind her ear and asking, “how much is this one?”

“Seventy dollars,” he gives her another one of his nicer smiles, “sixty-five if I like you.”

“My but you’re a strange one,” she says.

“Not for an artist,” he points out. He is strange for a mermaid, but if he says that, she’ll think he’s crazy.

“Good point.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out seventy bucks.

Keith takes the money and passes five dollars back. He does this with every customer. He asks for more than he wants, tells them he’ll drop the price if he likes them, then always gives them the price he wanted in the first place. Usually they pass the money right back to him. Other times they take it, but they come back and buy another. Keith might not be one for social contact, but he has learned how to sweet talk the tourists.

As he expects, she passes the money back and gives him a smile. “You keep it dear.”

He thanks her. “You’re a patron of the arts,” he says and bends slightly at the waist in a little bow.

The woman smiles, shakes her head, and walks away. Keith pockets the money and goes back to his painting. He draws another brush from a tin can at his feet and dips it in the blue-green paint he’s mixed on the pallet.

Keith loses himself in the paint as he often does. The Florida sun betting down on his head, the chilly breeze coming in off the ocean, the crash of waves and the screaming of beachgoers all fades away into the netherworld, as it were, and all that remains is Keith and the paint. Brush stroke by brush stroke, the scales on the mermaid’s tail come to life.

It’s probably hours later—Keith always looses track of time when he’s painting—that he emerges from his little trance. Or rather, he’s drawn out of it. There’s something going on a little further down the beach. He can feel it shimmering on the edges of his consciousness.

He looks up from the mostly finished painting and squints into the sun, scanning the waterline for the source of hubbub. There’s a growing group of people gathering around something or other almost halfway between the boardwalk and the low tide line. A few people are walking over in that direction as curiosity gets the better of them.

Keith frowns. Usually he isn’t one to fall into the ‘herd-mentality’ trap, but what’s ever going on looks like something he should probably get involved in. Something is screaming at him in the back of his mind in a language he knows he knows but has almost forgotten. It sounds crazy. Sounds ignorable. But call it instinct, call it mermaid intuition, it’s eating away at him. He’s annoyed with whatever it is because it’s demanding his attention and he doesn’t feel like leaving his painting when he’s so close to finishing it. But he knows the nagging in the back of his brain won’t go away until he checks it out. So, with a low growl, he bows to the inevitable and sets his paints aside.

When he gets there, he immediately sees the reason that voice in the back of his head called him over. He should have recognized the language—all squeaks, clicks, and high-pitched screams—he’s a little ashamed of himself for not recognizing it. Because there in the sand, in the middle of the crowd is a beached bottlenose dolphin. She’s lying on her side which isn’t good for a couple reasons.

There’s a couple of boys, lanky teens with irreverent unwise eyes, that seem to be closest to her. Physically speaking that it. One of them has a plastic yellow bucket full of water which he unhelpfully pours over the dolphin’s face. He’s getting water and sand in her blowhole; and that is an absolute DO NOT. The other boy, the one Keith suspects found the animal, is talking very importantly. He’s reciting things out of a biology textbook and pointing out parts of the dolphin to the small children gathered around with their parents.

Aside from the boys, half the people are trying to touch her. Stressing her out, which could actually kill her if the anxiety spikes her heartrate too high. And the other half that’s just standing around, watching, wishing there was something they could do, are being more of a general nuisance than any kind of _helpful._ He needs them all to just go away.

So Keith pushes his way through the people and kneels in the sand beside the dolphin as he says, “I need you all to get back and give her some room. She’s not going to die in the next few minutes, but you’re all stressing her out.”

“You a marine biologist?” the idiot textbook boy asks.

“No.”

“A fish vet?” the other questions.

That’s not even the right _term._ “No.”

“Then what makes you allowed to be here?” the first boy demands, _“I_ found him.”

“ _Her,_ ” Keith corrects, rolling his eyes. _Idiot_.

He could point out all the other mistakes the kid made but that would just be petty. It wouldn’t help anyone, least of all the stranded dolphin. And anyways, he prefers to be the mysterious brooding artist than the pompous high school science teacher.

Fortunately, the protests of the annoying kids have no effect on the more sensible adults. The parents and the responsible people start backing away and taking their gawking children with them. A few ask if there’s anything they can do to help, if they can’t just drag her back out to the water or something. But Keith shakes his head. Dragging the dolphin by her tail fluke could cause her more injury than it’s worth. Not to mention scrapping up her underbelly on the coarse sand. And they don’t have a tarp to put her on, so it’s an all-around bad idea. Instead, he tells them he’ll call the local aquarium for help. The grown-ups seem to accept this and more of them leave, satisfied to resume their vacations. One by one they go, and the crowd dissipates.

Mostly.

Unfortunately, the two idiot boys stay behind to bother him.

“You didn’t answer my question,” the first boy, the scientist wanna-be, the one with orange hair and a lobster red sunburn, says.

Keith roles his eyes. He’s not about to say _, ‘I’m a mermaid, and I’ve been taking care of marine animals for years, so I’m plenty qualified’_. That won’t exactly fly. So, he says the next thing that comes to mind. “Would you just piss off already? You’re stressing her out.”

“ _You’re_ stressing her out,” says the second boy.

 _Teenagers_.

It’s official. Keith is out of patience. He doesn’t have time to deal with these numbskulls.

Keith presses two fingers to his temple and reaches for the boys with his mind; stretches his telepathic muscles just a little bit and takes hold of what he finds. Once he has them, he takes over and tells them to leave. He is the siren and they must obey.

That’s another thing about being a mermaid; Keith is a telepath. It’s a practical tool in a mermaid’s toolbox; it’s used for communication underwater and for hunting. In the wild, mermaids can talk to each other or to other beings, mind to mind, heart to heart. If they’re hunting, they can take over the mind of their prey; make them hold still, come into the net, make they obey. Explaining the intricacies of a mermaid’s telepathic abilities would take a while and explaining the ‘difference’ between a mermaid and a siren would make it take longer. So for now, it will suffice to clarify only two things: one, Keith is a _mermaid,_ and two, he can take over the minds of other beings and talk to fish.

He doesn’t really _like_ taking over people’s minds. It’s invasive. And Shiro has been at pains to explain to him that while such behavior might be permissible, even expected, under water, it isn’t in on land. That doesn’t stop Keith from using his natural abilities, but he does think twice about it.

Usually.

Those boys needed a good kick in the pants. But since he’d probably get arrested on an assault charge if he _literally_ kicked them in the pants like he wants to, he’ll go with option B. Can’t get arrested for using telepathic mermaid powers after all. It’s not illegal or anything.

So as far as he’s concerned, good riddance to bad rubbish.

Keith pulls out his phone and does the only sensible thing, he dials Shiro at the Altea Bay Aquarium. Maybe his marine life veterinarian friend, the pretty one with blue eyes and silver hair, can help. Shiro has also been at pains to convince him that she’s good at her job and cares about the animals she treats and that not all aquariums are simply evil fish prisons. Well, today is the day for them to prove it.

The phone rings.

A pleasant feminine voice picks up. “Hello, you’ve reached the Altea Bay Aquarium and Marine Life Rehabilitation Center. This is Shay speaking; how can I help you?”

Keith doesn’t bother giving his name. “Is this the front desk?”

“Yes it is,” says the girl.

“Can you put me through to the dolphin facilities or the clinic?”

“Uhh…I’d like…what do you need?”

“Takashi Shirogane? I need to get ahold of him. It’s important.”

“Yeah, yeah. Ok. I’ll transfer your call. Hold on a minute.”

Keith waits. He isn’t panicked or anything, dolphins can survive on land for hours if they’re keep wet and cool enough, but he _is_ annoyed at having to wait. He isn’t going to blame the receptionist though. It isn’t her fault.

While he waits, he plays doctor. Well, in as much as he _telepathically_ asks the patient what the trouble seems to be. Her answer makes him cringe.

Finally, Shiro picks up. “Hello?”

“Shiro—”

“Keith?” Shiro sounds surprised.

Keith rolls his eyes. “No, it’s the President of the United States.”

“Alright wiseass,” says Shiro probably shaking his head, “whatcha need? I’ve got to get back to work.”

“I’ve got a beached bottlenose dolphin here. Female. I’m in South Altea Bay, at the beach across from the Aris Hotel.”

Keith hears the scratch of a pen on paper. “…beach across from…Aris…Hotel…Ok, got it. You know why she beached herself?”

Shiro knows his secret—they’re soul-brothers after all—so Keith isn’t outing himself by telling Shiro what he picked up on by _talking to a dolphin_. “She delivered a stillborn pup about a week ago but the placenta is still stuck inside her. It’s causing infection. She came to shallow water for protection and…”

“Got stuck on the beach,” Shiro finishes. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“No shit Sherlock.”

“Thanks Kit,” Shiro says absently. He’s used to Keith’s attitude by now.

There’s a soft clicking on Shiro’s end. Keith can hear him set the phone down and finish off whatever he had been writing down earlier. After a moment, Shiro picks up again. “Alright, hang in there Keith. We’re on our way.”

Shiro hangs up and leaves Keith to do what he can for the dolphin till he gets there. He doesn’t bother telling Keith what to do. He trusts him to know. Because Keith _does_ know. And he gets to work.

* * *

Lance McClain should _never_ be given the power of the hose. It goes against all rules of common sense and better judgement. Such power is too great to be wielded by one man alone. Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. And Lance has been corrupted.

He is hosing down the deck at the shallow end of the dolphin tank. At least, that’s what he’s _supposed_ to be doing. It’s late in the day, and the aquarium is going to close in a couple hours, and Lance is pretty much _done_ working. He is certainly done being serious.

Hunk is a little too far off to reach with the hose. He’s on the opposite deck across the pool pinning up the chore rotation schedule for next week. But Pidge isn’t far away, just a few feet further down his side of the deck testing the water PH and salt levels. Her back is turned to him, bent over, butt sticking in the air. The perfect unsuspecting target.

Combine the ultimate power of a hose with the most glorious target and put them in the hands of a bad idea mastermind like Lance, and what do you get…

“Target acquired,” Lance says. He closes one eye and peers over the nozzle of the hose as the it was a gun.

“Lance, what are you talking about?” Pidge asks absently without turning around.

With an evil grin, Lance turns on the hose and shoots Pidge in the backside with a jet of water.

“Lance!” screams Pidge. She shoots bolt upright from where she was bending over the chemistry kit and water samples.

He’s laughing. He can’t help it. He doubles over, lands on his knees, and hunches over his lap in hysterics. He’s still holding the hose with one hand between his thighs, pointing the Jetstream toward the deck.

“Of all the fucking stunts…” Pidge screams, “Lance!”

Is it really that funny? Yes. Absolutely. That was pure slapstick humor, good old-fashioned comedy gold. And Lance can’t stop _laughing._ It’s been a long day and he’s tired. Lance gets goofy when he’s tired. And Pidge isn’t actually mad—she’s annoyed—but she’s also secretly amused…most likely. Probably. She loves him anyways.

Honestly, he’s too tired to actually think much about it. He certainly hasn’t considered the consequences, a testament to how tired he is, because no one crosses Pidge without an escape plan. Not if they’re equipped with a fully functional sense of self-preservation at any rate. Lance’s seems to be on the fritz today.

That’s probably why he doesn’t stop her when she first reaches for the hose. Her hand slips under his radar as she takes it from him because he’s still too busy rolling around on the deck laughing.

Then he feels it. The cold fountain of hose water on the crown of his head. Icy droplets are dripping from the newly dried, salt crusted hair that hangs above his forehead. And then it moves over his back and starts running off the back of his wetsuit.

“Ah, Pidge!” he whines after a moment. He straightens his back and starts walking towards pidge on his knees. It looks like he’s praying to her. Or it would if his hands weren’t raised in front of his face in a futile attempt to block the water. “I only got you for like two seconds! You got me for like _ten!_ That’s not how payback works.”

“No, it really fucking is,” says Pidge with one of her smugass smiles.

“Nah-uh. That’s not how payback works. I wrote the book.”

“It’s how _I_ do payback,” says Pidge. She flicks her wrist and the water is in his face again.

Lance laughs in spite of himself. “Pidge—” he waddles closer on his knees and makes a grab for the hose. She holds it up further out of his reach and presses her thumb over the nozzle to increase the water pressure.

“Ahhh!” he screams.

“You asked for it,” Pidge points out. Which, OK, that’s _technically_ true. But Pidge is perpetuating his torture and breaking the rules of payback.

Back-up. Lance needs back-up ASAP.

“Hunk…” Lance drawls, “Pidge is torturing me.”

“Correct,” says Pidge before Hunk can answer, “now shut up and take it like a man!”

“AHhh…Hunk! Help me!” he calls. “Save me!”

“Sorry bud, but you brought this on yourself,” says Hunk. No sympathy whatsoever.

“Traitor!” Lance shouts, then interrupts himself, “Pidge for fuck sake!”

While he was distracted with talking to Hunk, Pidge had crept closer and stuck the hose right down the front of his wet suit. No protection for his bare stomach from the icy spray. But it’s the perfect opportunity to grab the hose. Almost. Damn Pidge is fast when she want’s to be. She dances away from him a few feet more down the deck so that Lance finally has to get up on his feet to chase her. But the closer he gets to her, the more water she sprays in his face.

Lance closes his eyes against the spray and walks forward blindly with his hand out in front of him for protection.

“You already got me back. Now can I have my hose? _Please?_ ”

“Surrender!” Pidge demands instead.

 _Pft. Like that’s ever going to happen._ “No! I need my hose.”

“Surrender bitch.”

“Never!”

Finally, Lance changes tactics. Instead of going for the nozzle, he grabs the length of the hoes and tries to reel Pidge in like a fish on the end of a line. He grits his teeth and shuts his eyes against the cold spray as he pulls. But Pidge is really fucking strong for her size and digs in her heels. The tug of war is on.

“Lance let go.” Pidge is trying to sound menacing by she’s laughing too hard to actually pull it off.

“No, I need my hose back. Shiro told me to clean the deck.”

She gives the hose another tug and his bare feet slide a few inches forward. “There’s no way Shiro would tell you to use the hose. He’s not stupid. We all know you’re too irresponsible to be trusted with it.”

“Rude! I’m plenty responsible!” he says giving the hose another tug of his own.

“You sprayed me in the butt!”

“Exactly my point,” Lance says, “what kind of irresponsible human being would I be if I passed up an opportunity like that?”

“Umm…how about a wise one?”

“Rude! I resent that! How dare you imply…”

Pidge smirks. “Do you deny it?”

“No, but I resent it.”

They’re really at it now, slipping and sliding over the deck. Every time she gets a free hand, Pidge blasts him in the face with the water. The first few times, Lance looses concentration and lets his grip slip a little. But after that, he learns to just grit his teeth trough the torrential onslaught. Eventually, he even gains the upper hand.

But just as he gets the nozzle and is about to blast Pidge in the face for a change, the water shuts off. Lance’s face falls. “Hey, no fair! What happened to my amo?”

Lance and Pidge look over at the hose fossette on the wall of the dolphin facility’s shower house. Standing over it, is their boss. Shiro. He’s already changed out of his wetsuit into the blue and pink Altea Bay Aquarium uniform tee, which means he’s probably been working in the office. Beside the tee-shirt, he’s also wearing the dad-face, which means they’re busted.

“Guys, please don’t play tug of war on the pool deck. It’s not safe. What if one of you falls in?” Shiro says in evident displeasure.

Pidge throws Lance under the buss faster than a shark after a barracuda. “He started it.”

Dad face. It’s the dad face. “LaAnce.” And the dad voice. Double threat. “I thought I told you to clean the deck.”

“And I _was_ ,” Lance says, “but Pidge’s big b…” he looks over at Pidge and rethinks what he was going to say. “…b…rain…just got in the way.”

“Good save,” says Pidge patting him on the back.

“Thanks.”

Shiro just shakes his head slowly in exasperation. He knows Lance. Knows his antics. Rather intimately at this point too. “Remind me again why I’m even paying you.”

“Technically, _you’re_ not,” Lance points out, “Coran is.”

Shiro just sighs heavily and shakes his head again.

“Long day?” Lance asks him.

“Very,” Shiro says, “just got out of a staff meeting with Zarkon. He’s determined to make our lives a living hell, and I’m pretty sure Allura was going to cry…” he pauses, and a curious expression falls over his face. “Well anyways, that’s over with for today.”

Lance feels his stomach sink. He want’s to ask about the meeting, wants to know what could have possibly upset Allura so badly, but he can tell Shiro is _done_ with the whole thing. D-O-N-E. So he doesn’t push.

“Anyways,” Shiro continues, “we’ve got some work to do. Lance, Hunk, get changed into something dry. You’re gonna take the buggy out to the beach in front of the Aris Hotel. There’s a beached dolphin we’ve got to go take care of. Allura, Pidge, and I will catch up with you in the truck.”

“You’re brining the truck?” Lance’s eyebrows head for his hairline, “why do we need the truck? You’re not…wait…you think we’ve got to bring it _in_?”

“What’s wrong with it?” Hunk asks as he crosses the little foot bridge over their side of the pool.

Shiro looks suddenly…constipated. It’s like he’s debating whether he should tell them or not. He knows something, they can all see it. Shiro is good at a lot of things but lying isn’t one of them. After the moment’s hesitation though, he’s decided on what to say. “We’ll let Allura make the official diagnosis. You two just get out there and give the guys at the beach a hand.”

* * *

“Over there, Hunk.” Lance points to a blueish gray mass in the middle of the beach.

Hunk angles the old army Jeep, or the buggy as they call it, towards the spot Lance indicated. He takes them over the bumpy sand at just under 10 mph all the while scanning for oblivious beachgoers and runaway children.

Lance shades his eyes from the sun with one hand and with the other reaches for the dashboard to steady himself as they bounce down the beach. The buggy doesn’t have a roof, or doors, or a real windshield, for real _seatbelts_ for that matter, and with the potholes in the sand, Lance is under constant threat of tossed out. He isn’t even sure this thing is street legal. In all fairness, it probably shouldn’t be. But that’s probably what makes it so much fun.

“I was kinda expecting a crowd to be gathered around,” Hunk shouts over the clattering vehicle and the rushing wind.

Lance nods. “Yeah, I kinda was too. Looks like there’s just that one girl though.”

“That’s good,” Hunk says, “wouldn’t want people spooking the poor thing.”

“Agreed.”

Lance finds himself straining his eyes to get a better look at the scene as they get closer. The dolphin looks surprisingly well taken care of. The girl it seems has it flipped fully on its belly and has already dug away the sand under its chest to help it breath. She’s also covered it with a damp towel to keep it from getting too badly sunburned or dried out. Lance couldn’t have done better himself in her shoes and honestly, he’s a little impressed.

Now that he’s satisfied the dolphin looks like it’s as well off as it can be under the circumstances, Lance takes a moment to study the girl herself. Her back is turned to them and he can’t see much, but he likes what he can see. She has short mahogany hair, slim legs, and a cute perky little butt that looks _great_ in black jeans. She’s wearing a red and white letterman jacket that’s covered in paint and he can’t be sure there isn’t a paintbrush stuck through her little ponytail.

“I think that girl with the dolphin is an artist,” Lance says, half to himself, half to Hunk.

“How con you tell?” Hunk asks.

“She’s covered in paint and I think that’s a brush in her hair.”

“But how can you _tell?_ How can you even _see_ that far?”

“Nothing escapes my eagle eyes, Hunk,” Lance boasts, “she’s got a cute bouncy little ponytail and _fantastic_ legs.”

“How do you know that? She’s crouched next to our friend there.”

“I can intuit these sorts of things. It’s my superpower.”

“Yeah, I don’t know about that man,” says Hunk skeptically, “this superpower of yours usually gets you into trouble. It’s more like a curse.”

Lance gasps dramatically. “How dare! Name one time, Hunk, _one time_ when my superpower was a curse.”

“Second year at Pasco Hernando, that blond in the back of Professor Irish’s class, the one who was already splitting her time between those two football players. And you…”

“Alright that’s one, now give me another.”

Hunk looks sideways at him. “Really?”

“No,” Lance grouses, “but I still say she’s cute. And she’s good with dolphins. I have a good feeling about this one.”

Hunk turns the steering wheel to angle them towards the girl and the dolphin. “Well, all I can see is that she’s wearing red jacket and black pants. Who wears black pants to a beach anyways?”

“Artists,” says Lance as if he would know anything out it, “they have to suffer for their aesthetic. That’s what sets them apart from us poor mortals.”

Hunk’s face twists with a look of disgust tinged with sympathy. “Well this poor mortal is happy to be wearing non-aesthetic shorts and a tee shirt.”

And Lance can kind of agree with that. But he also isn’t above suffering for his looks when the occasion demands it of him. It’s all about priorities.

The buggy comes in behind the girl from the boardwalk side. Hunk brings it up short a few feet away so as not to stress the dolphin unnecessarily and shuts off the engine. The second they stop, Lance is up and out of his seat and stepping out onto the sand. His face twists a little in concern. The dolphin’s situation doesn’t look good at all; the tideline is far enough away, and the sun is hot enough that he’s afraid Shiro might be right about bringing the truck.

He’s also a little concerned about the girl. She’s got a hand pressed to her temple and he wonder’s if she’s got a headache. Maybe she’s getting a touch of heat stroke in that jacket and those black jeans. He wouldn’t be surprised since it looks like she’s been crouching beside the dolphin for a while. Luckily for this pair of castaways, Lance McClain is on the job.

“The cavalry has arrived,” he announces loudly as he approaches, “you can take a breather now, beautiful.”

The girl turns around, and fuck, she’s not a girl at all.

She’s a _guy._ A guy with a strong jawline, high cheekbones, and a mess of tumbled dark hair hanging low over a set of black lilac eyes. His nose is wrinkled, upturned slightly, as his lips pull to one side of his face in a little frown. His gaze sharpens and his eyebrows pull together as he glares up at Lance. This guy looks dangerous. A wild kind of dangerous that Lance isn’t so sure he knows quite how to handle. He isn’t the beautiful girl Lance was expecting, but with those gorgeous eyes and that button nose, he won’t say he’s disappointed.

Lance feels his cheeks heat up and it has absolutely nothing to do with the blazing Florida sun. It does have everything to do with that look the guy is giving him; annoyance and suspicion mixed with just a little confusion and the hint of a blush.

“Is that so?” ponytail guy asks standing to face him fully. His voice is low and husky. It’s hot. Or it might be but for the irritated, privately amused edge.

It’s the edge in his voice that finally throws a switch on in Lance’s head and makes him look at the situation a little more critically. Makes him switch from flirt mode back to work mode where he’s supposed to be.

Everything about this guy’s voice and his expression suddenly make Lance feel like a complete idiot. And it’s not like he even said anything that _wrong._ Lance just feels really judged right now. And it’s really fucking uncomfortable. Now that he thinks about it, those dark eyes kind of _do_ look they’re peering deep into his soul and assessing him. Scrutinizing every inch of his being inside and out. And that feeling somehow gets _worse_ when the guy taps two fingers against his temple. It makes Lance squirm. But when a little of the suspicion clears from those black violet eyes, and they role over towards Hunk, Lance only feels as though he’s been weighed and found wanting, which is worse.

Well, two can play at that game.

“I was talking to the dolphin,” Lance says, drawing the guy’s eyes back to him. Yeah, that’s right. The dolphin is a real beauty too, and no one could blame him for complimenting her.

“I see,” is the deadpan response, but his expression suggests that he knows Lance is full of crap.

It’s infuriating. And hot. And, ugh, Lance is a dead man. His face heats up like a furnace and he throws his hands in the air. His plan? Just keep talking. Throw up a word-screen and hope nobody sees through his bullshit. “Of course I was! That poor thing needs to have some breathing room away from your…your” _Your what?_ He doesn’t know anything about this guy.

“Go on,” ponytail-guy says.

“Lance, please…” Hunk starts.

But while Lance is still at a loss for words, the guy drags the hair-tie out of his ponytail and sticks it between his teeth. He shakes out his hair before pulling it back again, but that one glimpse of his hair down around his shoulders gives Lance the ammunition he needs to finish his thought. “Your _mullet._ ”

Hunk’s face drops into the palm of his hand as it often does when Lance embarrasses himself.

“My _mullet_ is making it hard for her to breath?” ponytail guy asks. One eyebrow heads for his hairline as he folds his arms over his chest and lets his weight settle imperiously on one hip.

Ok, so not his best move. But is he going to acknowledge it? Nope.

“Yes!” he declares, “it’s sweltering her like it’s sweltering your _head_.”

“ _Lance_ ,” Hunk warns.

It then dawns on him that he’s at the point of no return. Too far down idiot road to turn back to dumb flirt. All he can do now is make a right at jerk junction and _pray_ he never has to see this guy again.

“I’m Hunk. This is Lance,” Hunk interjects before Lance can dig himself a deeper hole, “we’re the guys from Altea Bay Aquarium.”

Ponytail guy turns his attention back to Hunk. “Name’s Keith,” he says mildly more pleasant. He gestures towards the dolphin, “you’re…probably gonna need to bring her back with you. She’s in pretty bad shape. Got a bad bacterial infection.”

Hunk looks like he doesn’t know what to say to that, but Lance does.

“Bacterial infection?” he snorts, “how do you know that?”

“I just do,” says Keith. And that is the stupidest thing Lance has ever heard. How Keith manages to say it and imply some great mystery at the same time is beyond him.

“Is that so?” he says echoing Keith’s introductory statement. “Well, in that case, thanks for the call, but we’ve got this.”

Ponytail guy, Keith, cocks his head to one side and Lance sees a glint of irritation and wry amusement in his eyes. “Are you always this subtle?”

“Yes.” …wait… “no?”

That earns him a laugh. Or rather a little snort.

Hunk looks back up at them from examining the dolphin. “You did good work taking care of her before we got here,” he says, “but I don’t see any signs of infection. I mean, I don’t have any equipment on me but…”

“You’ll see it when you get her back the clinic,” says Keith.

And who is he to tell them how to do their job?

Lance is a little indignant. A lot indignant actually.

Logically, he knows he’s being irrational. This is _not_ how you talk to strangers, or anyone for that matter, but his buttons have been pressed. He’s been insulted and he’s embarrassed himself and that is never a good combo. And he really isn’t in the mood to get advice on how to take care of a dolphin from some _artist._

“Are you a marine life veterinarian? You got a chemistry kit somewhere in that mullet of yours?” he demands.

By the look on Keith’s face, this isn’t the first time someone has asked him that today and Lance feels a little better about himself knowing that he’s scored a hit as well. Knowing he’s cracked that dick-headed calm façade.

“No,” says Keith flatly.

“Then like I said, we can handle this. You’ve done an admirable job Googling what to do in case…”

“I didn’t google anything. My phone died right after I called the aquarium.” Keith holds up his phone with its black screen of death like that’s going to convince him.

“Uh, huh. And you expect me to just _believe_ you knew what you were doing?”

“Yes. And I also expect you to believe that you need to…”

“Well if you didn’t Google it, and you’re not a doctor, then I don’t see why I need to believe anything,” Lance says mirroring Keith’s defiant position.

“Guys!” Hunk interrupts, “this isn’t going to help our friend here.” He indicates the dolphin with one hand. “Lance you and I have work to do before the others get here. And Keith, we could use your help getting her onto the stretcher.”

“We don’t…” Lance starts.

“We do,” says Hunk pointedly, “you and I aren’t getting a 300-pound dolphin anywhere by ourselves.”

Lance gives his friend the stink eye, but as usual, Hunk has a good point. He goes back to the buggy to get the stretcher. Right now, Lance regrets everything. He regrets coming to the beach. He regrets coming in to work today. He regrets getting up this morning. But just because he wants to crawl under a blanket on the couch with a tub of cookie-dough doesn’t mean he gets to. There’s still a dolphin to rescue after all and Lance always puts the animals over his gripes and grudges. So that means it’s time to: salvage his dignity, get this guy out of his hair, and get the dolphin back to the aquarium, so he can whine about this whole ordeal to Hunk and Pidge.

They lay the stretcher out beside the dolphin and snap the metal rods into place under the plastic bed. Hunk unzips the bag—a sleeping bag like feature snapped on over the bed that will keep the dolphin wet and out of the sun—and lays the whole thing as wide open as it can go.

Now comes the fun part, getting the dolphin into the thing. First, they have to tip her on her side for a few seconds, long enough to slide the stretcher under her belly. Unfortunately, she doesn’t like it. She’s making things difficult for them, and unlike the dolphins at the aquarium, she doesn’t know to trust them. She keeps trying to whack them with her powerful tail or butt them with her snout. And suddenly Lance wonders just how Keith of all people managed to calm her down enough to take care of her the way he had.

“Hang on,” says Keith, “she’s going to hurt herself.” He sounds annoyed and distinctively unimpressed. It makes Lance bristle.

But Hunk moves over slightly for Keith to join them at her side. Lance doesn’t know what the guy it trying to do. Honestly, he thinks Keith is a little bananas. And no wonder. Keith doesn’t _do_ anything. Nothing useful anyways. He just closes his eyes and taps the fingers of one hand to his temple and lays the other on the dolphin’s head. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t move. He just sits there.

Lance wants to poke him.

It takes a moment, but eventually he says something that at least makes a little sense. “Alright, let’s get her on this thing ASAP.”

Lance gives Keith his best skeptical frown. “What do think you are? Some kind of dolphin whisperer?”

Keith give him a look he can’t decipher. “Does that matter?”

“She seems to have calmed down,” Hunk says, “I say we follow Keith’s suggestion and move her while we still can.”

“Fine. On three,” says Lance, “one, two, three.”

They get their hands under her belly and heave upwards. She tips away from them onto her side. Hunk is there with the stretcher, sliding it forward under her as fast as he can. “Alright let’s lower her down gently,” he says.

All three of them work together tip the dolphin gently back down onto the stretcher. Hunk grabs a gallon of water from the buggy and pours it over her back and tail, carefully avoiding the blowhole. She seems appreciative of the cool water and it makes Lance smile. When he risks a look at Keith, he’s surprised to see the start of a smile tugging at the edges of his lips. He doesn’t look half so menacing when he isn’t scowling.

Hunk zips the dolphin into the bag as far as he can without covering the dorsal fin or her face. When he’s finished, he looks up at Keith. “Thanks again for all your help, man. There’s our guys in the truck now, so there’s really not much more you can do here.”

 _That’s Hunk-speak for ‘you can get lost now’_ Lance thinks. But he’s wise enough for the time being not to say anything.

He doesn’t need to anyways.

Keith nods. “Yeah, I guess not. Take good care of her, will you?”

Hunk smiles. “Yeah, man.”

“As if we’d do anything else,” Lance scoffs. He’s offended. Maybe he shouldn’t be, but he is.

Whatever pleasantness had fallen over Keith’s features washes away in an instant as he turns away from Hunk back to Lance. “You’re a warden at a fish prison. I reserve the right not to trust you.”

Lance is flabbergasted. Stunned fucking speechless. Just what is this guy’s problem anyways? Lance wants to make the simple diagnosis, Keith has a humongous stick up his ass, but he’s quickly coming to the conclusion that his diagnosis isn’t strong enough.

“We’ll take good care of her, I promise,” Hunk says earnestly.

Keith nods again. “It was nice meeting you, Hunk.” He turns, “Lance.”

 _Nice meeting you?_ NICE MEETING YOU? After all that… _that_ …what even was _that?_

But before Lance can come out of his stupefied trace, Keith is walking away. He heads back down the beach towards a little easel and a collection of canvases stacked up in the sand. When Lance finds his voice again, the first thing to explode out if his mouth is, “the fuck was that!?”

The others pull up in the truck. Allura jumps down followed by Pidge. Shiro jumps down from the driver’s side a moment later as Coran pulls up in the forklift. It ends up taking all of them to get the dolphin into the truck, but Lance isn’t really focused. He can’t help it. Somehow his head is full of Keith. It’s embarrassing. Hunk and Pidge are going to get an earful from him after work and that cookie dough doesn’t stand a chance.

 _Fucking Keith_.

* * *

**[Today 6:45]**

**That*BIONIC*man:** Hey Keith, just wanted to say thanks for that call about the dolphin. You saved her life

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Yeah well what else was I going to do?

 **That*BIONIC*man:** I’m proud of you

 **That*BIONIC*man:** =)

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Don’t be. I still don’t trust your aquarium fish prison

 **That*BIONIC*man:** aww Keith, I thought we did good D=

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** tbd

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** And your coworker is an asshole by the way

 **That*BIONIC*man:** So are you

 **That*BIONIC*man:** But Lance really isn’t that bad once you get to know him

 **That*BIONIC*man:** he’s funny as hell and he really has a heart for the animals ;)

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** What is that winky face for?

 **That*BIONIC*man:** Oh nothing ;) *winky face intensifies*

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Stop that!

 **That*BIONIC*man:** I just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing, and you ATTACK me!

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Then stop WINKING at me!

 **That*BIONIC*man:** Are you at home?

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Yeah

 **That*BIONIC*man:** I’m coming over. And ps. I haven’t had dinner yet so either we’re going out or I’m raiding your fridge

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** ok, but we’d better go out. I haven’t gone shopping

 **That*BIONIC*man:** Keith!

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** I was busy!

 **That*BIONIC*man:** Want me to pick anything up?

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Nah. We can just go out tonight and I’ll deal with it tomorrow

 **That*BIONIC*man:** kk. I’ll see you in a few then

 **That*BIONIC*man:** dun, dun, dun…

 **That*BIONIC*man:** …

 **That*BIONIC*man:** ;) 

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Stop that!

Shiro has to get out of the Jeep to open the rusted and warped chain-link gate. He fumbles a little with the padlock. It’s basically just there for show; usually they just leave it hanging on a random ring in the gate rather than hooking it through the lock. Only Keith bothers to shut the gate properly and he only shuts it properly when he’s in a _mood_. Finally, the lock comes out with a high-pitched screech of grating metal. The gate scrapes over the dry dirt and dying grass as he pushes it open wide enough for the Jeep to get through.

Luxite Trailer Park is home to exclusively old army veterans and other ex-military personnel who either, like him, never really left the battlefield behind or whose pensions won’t keep them in a house _and_ pay their medical bills. They’re a rowdy crazy bunch of patriots the lot of them. Just a bunch of old broken-down soldiers and nurses who are committed to three things in life. One, they’re committed to their country, in spite of everything, they believe in America. Two, they are committed to getting the most out of the time they’ve got left, which usually means playing pranks with the lawn flamingos or driving the hooch-mobile between the trailers. And three, they are all committed to keeping Keith a secret.

Keith is the only exception to the military-man rule. Because Luxite Trailer Park is exclusive, and they won’t let just anyone in. You have to be ex-military and you have to be trustworthy. No exceptions. And since Shiro brought Keith in, they’ve only gotten stricter with the rules and more suspicious of outsiders.

That said, they really are a funny bunch. And they’re all so damn protective of their resident mermaid that it makes Shiro smile just to think about it. Despite the way they rib and tease him, every last one of them loves Keith to pieces. Shiro will never get over how grateful he is to them for that. It makes everything easier for him to know that Keith has a safe home, that he has somewhere to go where he doesn’t have to worry about hiding such a big part of himself. That he has people who will quite literally fight to the death to protect him. The General even has a strategy to turn the trailer park into a defensible fort in the case that someone is dumb enough to come after him.

Shiro drives through the gate and parks the Jeep somewhere random in the grass off the single gravel road that runs through the park.

“What’s that Jeep doing on my lawn?” someone shouts.

“Sorry Colonel,” Shiro says with a smile, “but your driveway is full of shit.”

“Your driveway is full of shit, Sir,” the old colonel corrects him.

“Sir, yes, sir. Sorry sir,” Shiro says as he leaps down from the vehicle without bothering to grab the keys.

Colonel Martin Antock just shakes his head and goes back to cleaning the old M40 Remington riffle resting across his knees. He bends over his wheelchair and reaches for the barrel cleaner lying on its side in the grass. “You’re getting sloppy Lieutenant.”

“Duly noted sir,” says Shiro. He rounds the vehicle and starts walking down the road a little. He’ll have to get to Keith’s trailer on foot.

“Hey where are you going?” Antock stops him dead in his tracks. “What, you move in with your girlfriend and then you get too busy to come round here and say hello? You gone native or something?”

 _OK, ouch._ He may not have been ‘home’ much in a while, not since he moved into an apartment with Allura, but that doesn’t mean he wanted it to be like that. However, as much as he wants to defend himself against that attack, a defense is not what comes out of his mouth. It’s a correction.

“Allura isn’t my girlfriend. We’re just sharing the rent costs,” Shiro says with a little frown.

“She would be if you’d stop pussyfooting around asking her out,” says Antock.

“I’m not pussyfooting.” But even as he says it, he’s aware that he’s dangerously close to pouting.

Antock snorts as he locks then unlocks the bolt. “Ya know, if we used your tactics in Vietnam, I tell ya, there’d be communists everywhere. Marching right up to our front doors.”

It’s Shiro’s turn to snort. “We lost that war,” he reminds the colonel, “and there’s no communists here.”

He gets the stink-eye for his troubles. “What are you? Some kind of historian?” He rubs a rag against the barrel of his rifle. “Pass me a beer from that cooler, Lieutenant.”

“Sir, yes sir,” say Shiro with a privately triumphant smirk as he walks over and opens the cooler.

“I don’t need any of your cheek, Sirogane,” says Antock taking the beer. “But I tell ya son, your pussyfooting aint gonna do you any good.”

“Love is not a military engagement and Allura is not a conquest.”

“Spoken like a terminally single man,” Antock takes a sip of beer, “but I tell ya, you’ve gotta show her that you like her or someone else will. And let’s be honest son, you’re only part of the man you used to be.” He taps Shiro’s prosthetic arm with the back of two fingers.

“Thanks colonel.”

“Marty, stop hassling the boy,” shouts Margaret. The old army nurse stands with folded arms in the door of their trailer. “We all know you’d never have married me if I hadn’t proposed.”

“I’m just trying to help him,” Antock shouts turning back in his chair, “kid’s hopeless.”

Margaret ignores her husband. “Takashi, you step up your game up and ask that poor girl on a proper date already. It’s been too long and it’s probably killing her as bad as it’s killing you.”

Shiro knows he doesn’t stand a chance against Margaret. The woman is tough as nails and then some. She didn’t become an officer for nothing and honestly, she can be a little terrifying. Colonel Antock he can handle, but Margaret, he’s not so sure. So he does the only sensible thing to do in a situation where he’s out gunned and out matched. He retreats. Falls back. Abort mission. Regroup. Change the subject.

“Hey, have either of you seen Keith today?” he asks.

Antock jabs his thumb roughly in the direction of Keith’s trailer at the very back of the park. “Kid came home about an hour ago and headed straight for the spa.”

The spa? Oh that’s not good. Keith is definitely in a mood.

“I’d better go check on him,” Shiro says.

“Be sure to tell that boy I’m making avocado toast and salmon for dinner. If he wants to join us, he needs to get his butt over here in 15. You too. You’re getting skinny again.” Margret calls as she retreats back into the trailer.

Shiro laughs good naturally at the woman’s motherly nature. “Will do. Thanks Peggy,” he shouts back over his shoulder.

He finds Keith chilling in the little inflatable kiddie-pool affectionately referred to as the ‘spa.’ It’s like Keith’s version of the Batcave, just without the cave and the Batmobile and the bats. It’s his ‘ _don’t mess with me because I’m in a mood and I will fucking kill you if you try_ ’ place.

He’s relaxed into mermaid form; let his legs bind together into a graceful tail. The bright red scales shimmer in the fading sun and little dots of reflected light dance over the grass and the water when he shifts. Keith’s mermaid form is breathtakingly beautiful. It saddens Shiro that it’s something he sees with less and less frequency lately. When he was a kid, Keith used to morph all the time. It pained him to have to walk around on human legs so much, so the General went out and bought the spa for him. Now, he only morphs back into his natural form a couple times a month when he’s frustrated and angry or moping.

The whole brooding in the spa routine was what finally prompted Shiro to spray-paint ‘BEWARE OF MERMIAD’ on their trailer in big red letters. When you get near Keith when he’s stranded in the spa, he tends to scowl at you in an attempt to make you leave him alone. Shiro finds it honestly hilarious and a little endearing. He thinks of Keith as a moody alligator in the middle of some tiny pond on a golf course.

“Well, now there’s a sight you don’t see every day,” says Shiro in greeting.

“Fuck off.”

“But I just got here.” Shiro grabs and abandon lawn chair that’s tipped over on one side and drags it over the to spa. “Dare I ask how things went at the beach?”

Keith shrugs. “About as well as you expected, I’m guessing.”

Shiro nods. “I figured. Lance said you called him the warden of a fish prison.”

“Am I wrong?”

“Not from your point of view,” Shiro allows.

Keith makes a face. “Just what is that supposed to mean?”

Shiro sighs. They’ve had this argument before. Many times. It’s not worth it to start the whole things over again. “Look, Keith, I wouldn’t have hired Lance and Hunk if I wasn’t sure that they’d put the animals first. They’re good people.”

“I know that.”

Shiro takes a moment to consider the right way to phrase his next argument, because if he get’s it wrong, Keith will explode on him. He takes long enough deliberating that Keith gives him a questioning look. Finally, he realizes he just needs to go for it.

“Why don’t you come by the aquarium tomorrow and you can check on your friend yourself?” he suggests.

Keith’s face contorts into an ugly scowl. “Hell no.”

“Keith,” he starts, “it’ll be good for both of you. You can put two minds at ease with one trip.”

“I’m not going to your fish prison to see your fish carver friend at work.”

Shiro loses it a little. “But you _eat_ fish.”

“And they’re delicious,” says Keith without missing a beat, “so perhaps I should rephrase, it’s not the fish I’m mad about. It’s keeping centenarians captive and you know it.”

And what it he supposed to say to that? Even Shiro has his doubts there sometimes. But the fact of the mater is, they do good work and their hearts are in the right place. He just needs Keith to see that so they can get their relationship back to normal.

Shiro sighs again. “Just come with me and see for yourself alright? If you’re really uncomfortable, I’ll take the rest of the day off and drive you home myself.”

“I’m not going,” says Keith stubbornly.

“Please? Just for your friend?”

“No.”

“Just for me?”

“No.”

Shiro wants to pull his hair out. But he takes a moment. Breaths in his impatience and lets it go. He doesn’t want to take this next step but he’s going to. “Are you afraid for the animals or for yourself?”

Keith’s face twists a little, clouded with a dozen emotions Shiro isn’t able to pick out. But he’ll either answer honestly or he won’t answer at all, which in this case, is the same as an answer. Because Keith is many things, a telepathic mermaid being only one, but he will never lie. Shiro finds himself holding his breath as he waits. He’s just shy of crossing his fingers in a prayer to whatever god there may be that Keith doesn’t blow up at him.

“Fuck off, Shiro,” is all he gets. Mercifully anti-climactic coming from Keith.

“Please come with me?” Shiro tries again, “I promise you can trust my crew. You’ll be fine.”

Keith huffs. “No Shiro. Give it a rest.”

“Please? It would mean so much to me. And to your friend. If you go just this once, I promise I will never ask you again.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

Keith seems to think it over. Consider just how bad it could be to go to the aquarium for a few hours vs. listen to Shiro pester him about it for the rest of his life. It’s the most honest consideration Shiro has ever seen from him on the subject, and he gets the feeling that this time he may _possibly_ have won.

“Fine,” says Keith reluctantly.

“Really?”

“Yes. Now don’t push it, or I’ll just change my mind.”

Shiro brightens from the inside out. He’s got a chance. He’s got a one time shot to prove to his little brother that he isn’t some evil fish warden. “Well in that case, I only have one more message for you…”

“Oh no, what now?”

“The colonel and Peggy told us to drop in at their trailer for salmon and toast, so get your mermaid ass up and out of that spa, and let’s go get some dinner.”

Find the artist: [AshenAngel2 DeviantArt Galery](https://www.deviantart.com/ashenangel2/gallery/73222672/voltron-fan-art)

or: [AshenAngel2 Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ashenangel2)


	2. Altea Bay Aquarium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Friday, 8:47 PM]  
> ShutUpAndLanceWithMe: I challenge you to a general science trivia match!  
> Nota_fucking_Mermaid: I thought you couldn’t talk to me anymore   
> ShutUpAndLanceWithMe: I changed my mind. Beating you is too much fun  
> Nota_fucking_Mermaid: You can’t see me rn, but I’m rolling my eyes at you  
> ShutUpAndLanceWithMe: Just log into the fucking app and prepare for total spankage, take 2  
> Nota_fucking_Mermaid: What are you implying?

**[Today, 12:22 PM]**

**That*BIONIC*man:** Where are you? I’m at the gate. Let’s go

**That*BIONIC*man:** Keith, if you changed your mind this morning and didn’t tell me, I swear to god I will blast you with Shakira for a month!

**That*BIONIC*man:** I’m going to be so fucking late!

**That*BIONIC*man:** KEITH!

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Keep your shirt on Shiro, I’m on my way

**That*BIONIC*man:** Run

Keith roles his eyes and shoves his phone into his back pocket. He ties a plaid button-up around his waist and jogs down the creaky steps of his trailer. The lock on the door broke some time ago, so he ties it shut by looping a faded red bandana through little rusted rings between the door and the frame.

He moves. Not as fast as Shiro wants him too but much faster than he would like. His legs are still sore from morphing back into his human shape last night. They burn on the inside, especially at his ankles, between his knees, and at the tops of his inner thighs. It feels a little bit like a bad road rash where the scales have retracted and skin has been stretched and shredded, pushed apart so that his bones can split from a succinct continuation of his spine into individual appendages. The muscles also feel stiff and sore like they would after a hard workout. And a workout it is. The muscles have to contract and slide out of each other’s way before lengthening over the bones again. It leaves his legs feeling like jelly for several hours. And even now, they aren’t quite back to where they should be.

Simply put, Keith is in pain and he has no intention of running. He can barely jog. Wearing loose harem pants and well-worn Doc Martins helps a little. It means there isn’t rough fabric clinging to his legs or snagging on the little scales that pop out to protect his sensitive skin. But wearing lose fitting clothes isn’t enough to negate the lingering aches and pains.

Keith tries to ignore it all but… _damn he’s out of practice at this_. He’s gotten rusty.

“You doing OK, kiddo? Ya look like you’re waddling or something,” shouts Captain Jim Thace as Keith passes his driveway. The old naval captain stands over a golf ball with a four iron in hand, bushy white eyebrows raised, wrinkled lips pursed in a concerned or concentrated scowl.

But Keith doesn’t have time to listen to one of Thace’s lectures. So he turns and smiles. “I’m fine.”

“Ya know, you should get back in shape soldier. You’re rusty.” says Thace.

Keith makes a face. A little smirk lifts the corner of one side of his mouth. “Like your golf game?”

“Whelp,” scoffs Thace. He takes a couple practice swings with the golf club, making little divots in the lawn.

Keith just snorts and keeps walking. “See you tonight, Captain,” he calls over his shoulder. But he doesn’t get far before he hears the familiar twang of the club making contact with the golf ball. Then he sees it. The little white ball wizzes past his left shoulder.

“Four!” shouts Captain Thace from behind him.

There’s a crash. A sound of shattered glass. And a moment later, Colonel Antock appears from around the corner of his trailer, pushing his wheelchair over the crabgrass with purpose. He stops before reaching the end of his back yard and brandishes the golf ball in one hand. “Thace!” he shouts.

“Sorry about that Colonel!” Thace shouts back.

An argument will soon follow. Keith knows the drill. So he picks up the pace again and heads for the gate. It’s only about another two-minute walk over level dirt and dry grass. When he gets there, he sees Shiro tapping his thumb impatiently against the steering wheel of his Jeep. As soon as he spots Keith, he honks the horn a couple times.

“Get your ass over here, Keith!” Shiro shouts.

Keith just rolls his eyes and shoves his thumbs in his pockets. “I’m coming.”

“ _Faster._ I’m late.”

It probably feels like an eternity to Shiro before Keith yanks open the passenger side door and climbs up. He doesn’t even have time to shut it before Shiro backs up and pulls out onto the road. Shiro speeds down the one lane gravel road out to the highway behind the trailer park. He ignores the stop sign and guns it to jump out in front of a red mustang convertible. Another passenger would probably have screamed—Shiro drives like there’s an enemy tank on his tail—but Keith has learned over the years to just sit back and enjoy the ride.

“Were you trying to force me to leave without you?” Shiro demands.

Keith folds his arms over his chest and keeps his eyes front out the windshield. He could understand why Shiro might think that, but it isn’t fair. If Keith doesn’t want to do something, he’s upfront about it. He doesn’t play those sorts of games. He’s what one might classify as an in-your-face rebellious type.

“No,” he says flat and even.

“Then what took you so long?” Shiro blurts.

“Walking.”

Shiro just shakes his head. “There’s some Aspirin in the glovebox.”

Keith leans forward and opens the glovebox. He has to dig a bit through the packages of tissues, insurance papers, manuals, and do-dads that Shiro has crammed into his little car cubby, but he finds the Aspirin in the end. It’s the only human drug that doesn’t make him nauseous and drowsy.

Without looking, Shiro passes him a water bottle. “You gonna be OK today?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He downs the Aspirin. “I’m in too much pain to harass your fish-prison friends.”

Now it’s Shiro’s turn to role his eyes. He shakes his head again, this time with private amusement and a little fondness. “OK, Keith, OK.”

Keith sticks the water bottle back in the cupholder as far as it will go and turns up the music. He isn’t a big Beach Boys fan, but the sun is shining, the breeze rushing past the open windows and the rolled back ragtop is warm, and downtown Altea Bay is beautiful this time of year. The spunky surfer beat of the music kinda just seems to fit.

They take the first exit off the highway, onto the main road that leads straight through downtown, parallel to the beach. Traffic is just starting to get heavy. You can always tell the locals from the tourists because, well, the locals drive like Shiro. They’re bobbing and weaving through the traffic, making enough close calls that a saner person would slow down. Not Shiro. He goes right on driving and right on sinning; “and she’ll have fun, fun, fun, till her daddy takes the T-bird away...”

About fifteen minutes later, they pull into the employee parking lot behind the aquarium. Shiro has his own parking spot apparently. ‘ _Fancy_ ,’ Keith thinks as he opens the door and steps out onto the pavement. He’s a second ahead of Shiro who leans back into the car to grab his keys.

“Alright,” says Shiro, “ _technically_ I’m not supposed to be doing this, so if anyone asks, I’m interviewing you for a job. Got it?”

“Yep. We’re allowed to break the rules as long as we come up with a good story. Got it.”

Shiro slaps him upside the head. “Come on.”

Keith pales a little. He hasn’t let himself think about what coming here actually means—not since he agreed to it last night—which means he also hasn’t really prepared himself. Now that’s he’s actually here, he isn’t sure he’s ready. He doesn’t want to see sea creatures, animals he might have at one point in his life befriended, locked up in little pools.

To anyone else, that might seem a little silly. Justice for the animals, activist, virtue signaling bullshit or whatnot. Or perhaps a sign that someone has a pathetically tender heart and really needs to get a grip on life. At least that’s what Keith would assume if he met someone like himself. But it’s not like that for him because he _hears_ the voices of the animals in his head. He _understands_ them. He _feels_ their boredom, and frustration, and sadness. And it hurts him.

He doesn’t realize that he’s stumbled a step back, fingers pressed to his head, until Shiro hooks a steading and under his elbow. When he looks up, he sees a set of concerned grey eyes boring into him.

“Hey buddy, you OK?” Shiro asks, “if you don’t think you can do this, you can take the car and head home.”

Keith shakes his head. “I’m fine, Shiro. Just, wasn’t prepared. That’s all.”

“You sure?” Shiro is still looking at him with concern and, while he does appreciate it to some extent, he doesn’t like Shiro thinking he can’t handle this at all.

_Get it together, Keith. Don’t think, don’t feel. Be cool,_ he admonishes himself.

“Fine,” Keith snaps.

Shiro has looked more convinced before, but he only says, “OK then, follow me.”

He follows Shiro through the back entrance, round the back of the aquarium proper, and along the outskirts of the outdoor exhibits. Keith can’t bring himself to look at the enclosed sea creatures. He won’t do it because it’ll break his heart. It’ll remind him that he too is not where he truly belongs. He already feels like he’s suffocating on land; he’s dealing with a kind of claustrophobia no one can really truly understand. He can’t look at those animals and feel for them. So, he doesn’t. He stares straight at Shiro’s back as he curses himself for getting talked into this.

Presently, they come to a little footbridge that leads to what Keith can only assume is the dolphin pool. Shiro turns back to give him a smile. “Here we are. Red should be around here someplace.”

Keith feels his eyebrows draw together in a skeptical frown. “ _Red?_ ”

Shiro shrugs. “They guys named her.”

“Why _Red?_ ”

“There was…some blood involved last night.” Shiro throws his hands up defensively before Keith can get mad. “We didn’t hurt her. She’s fine, much better, I swear.”

Keith ignores that. And Shiro will just have to deal with it because silence is the best he’s going to get on the matter.

Instead, Keith kneels on the deck beside the dolphin pool and presses two fingers to his temple. He leans over the water as he stretches his senses out over the dolphins looking for his friend. What he feels, makes his heart clench but not as much as he had expected. He feels the dolphins’ frustration with the small enclosure space and their boredom, but they’re not as sad as he thought they’d be. In fact, he feels one playing with a trainer and… _enjoying_ …the attention which he thinks is… _weird_. But he presses on in his search until he finds that familiar mind.

_Red._ She might have given herself another name, but it’s _her_. He _feels_ it. And she’s eager and _grateful_ to see him. It makes his heart soar. She isn’t mad at him for leaving her here. She just remembers how he helped her, and really, that’s enough to make Keith smile.

Keith doesn’t have time to back up from the deck before Red charges him, splashing water in his face and drenching one of his favorite shirts. She sticks her nose into his chest and lets him pet the top of her head. She isn’t doing great but she’s _alive_. And that means something to both of them.

“She’s alive,” Keith laughs as he looks up at Shiro, “she hates it here, but she’s going to be OK.”

Shiro’s grin is blinding. “Yes, she’s going to be just fine. Allura thinks we can release her in a few weeks so hopefully she can rejoin her pod.”

“I can tell the pod to stick around,” Keith thinks out loud, “tell them not to migrate till she gets home.”

Shiro just smiles.

Keith knows his brother doesn’t like the idea of him swimming around the bay as a mermaid, but he won’t ruin the mood. And Keith can’t bring himself to care, because Shiro kept his word and Red is OK.

_Red is OK_.

Keith is ecstatic. He leans over the pool and hugs Red the best he can.

“What is he doing here?” a familiar voice says from above and behind him. Keith freezes. Oh god. It’s the annoying guy from the beach.

_Oh fuck!_ Keith had been so wrapped up in seeing Red that he’d forgotten to watch his surroundings. He’d somehow forgotten exactly _who_ worked here.

Shiro speaks up, “Lance this is Keith. He’s…”

“Not supposed to be back here, Shiro,” Lance interrupts irritated, “you know the rules.”

Keith can hear the smile in Shiro’s voice even without turning his head from the dolphin. “He’s _officially_ here for a job interview.”

Lance scoffs. “Because we need a dolphin whisperer with a degree in Google on our team.”

Keith feels his face heat up in anger and frustration. But he’s determined to be civil. No more than civil, but it’s a start. He keeps his eyes fixed on Red, refusing to turn and look at Lance at all.

Unfortunately, Lance isn’t having any of it. He feels two fingers tap him on the shoulder. “What _are_ you doing here? Come to check up on my work?”

Keith sighs as he realizes that, yes, he does have to turn around and face the guy. There’s really nothing for it. And anyways, his bull-headed curiosity and his pig-headed confrontational self won’t let him just blow it off.

Because, here’s the thing: Lance is an idiot. But he’s a good looking, well-intentioned idiot. And Keith almost feels bad about being an asshole yesterday. _Almost._ Because—let’s give credit where credit is due—Lance started it. He waltzed up to Keith and declared in his loud obnoxious voice, ‘you can take a breather now, beautiful, the cavalry has arrived!’ or some such nonsense. But as obnoxious as Lance had been, Keith will privately admit that _part_ of it was his fault.

They got off on the wrong foot. It’s that simple.

Keith is willing to let bygones be bygones if Lance is. So, in his own asshole way, Keith decides to give Lance another shot. A shot to erase their first meeting and start over. He folds his arms over his chest, turns to face him, and give Lance his best quizzical look. “Uh, who are you?”

Lance looks positively flabbergasted. His mouth opens and closes a few times like a fish out of water. It’s fucking hilarious and Keith has to fight to keep the smirk off his face.

“The name’s _Lance,_ ” he finally manages.

Keith keeps up the blank stare.

“We met yesterday on the beach?” Lance tries.

_Is he seriously trying to refresh my memory of that?_

“Ugh, you called me the ‘warden of a fish prison’?”

_So we are going there. Well, you can say goodbye to blissful ignorance, Lance, because I remember you all too well_. And he does. Keith remembers Lance in every detail; from his loud annoying voice to his loud annoying face. His blue eyes. His tan skin. His wild coper hair. And his wide expressive mouth are all burned into Keith’s memory in perfect detail.

So yes, Keith remembers.

And unfortunately—or fortunately depending who you talk to—Lance apparently never learned not to look a gift horse in the mouth. He couldn’t just let well enough alone and pretend that they never met. Nope. That idiot had to make _sure_ Keith remembered him and all his glorious blunders from yesterday. Well, challenge accepted, because Lance is still an idiot and Keith is still an asshole.

Keith narrows his eyes and allows the recognition to seep into his face. “Oh wait, I remember you. You’re the one that called me beautiful.”

Lance throws his hands in the air dramatically and his face suddenly turns beet red. “I was talking to the _DOLPHIN!_ ”

This time, Keith easily lets the smug smirk blossom on his lips free of restraint. “ _Sure_ you were.”

Lance makes a sound that could only be described as a ‘verbal key-smash’. “I _was!_ ”

Shiro, god bless him, decides to save them both from their own stupidity. Well, kind of. “Oh, Lance,” he laughs, “I cannot believe you sometimes.”

“ _Shiro,_ ” Lance whines, “how could you betray me like that? And to this…this Mullet no less?”

“This ‘ _Mullet’_ is my little brother,” Shiro says in his commanding but distantly amused voice. The one he uses when he wants to let you know he finds your embarrassment hilarious but he’s pretending not to.

And Lance just looks like he swallowed his foot and choked on it. It’s the most hilarious thing Keith has seen in a _long_ time. The guy is visibly speechless; his facial expressions that morph between emotions so fast Keith can’t even keep up. It is enough to make this whole trip to the aquarium worth it.

“Your _brother?!_ ” Lance finally blurts, “your _brother!_ And you didn’t _tell_ me?! You didn’t give me any warning! Shiro! I can’t believe I looked up to you!”

“I, meanwhile, have just gained next level respect for you,” says a new voice that Keith doesn’t recognize, “Shiro, I just want you to know how much I look up to your parenting skills.”

“I’m not Dolphin Dad, Pidge, we talked about this,” Shiro says with a longsuffering sigh.

“You should seriously reconsider that,” Pidge says casually, “you handle Lance masterfully and we all know what a baby he can be.”

“Pidge!” Lance squeals, “how could you?!”

Pidge, the newcomer, is a short girl, probably 18 at the most, with shaggy mouse brown hair and wiry white limbs. Her mischievous smirk and readiness to mess with Lance makes Keith like her almost immediately. She roles her eyes at Lance’s dramatics and extends her hand with a wan smile, “I’m Pidge. You must be the guy Lance has been blathering about non-stop since yesterday.”

Keith feels his face heat up. He’s thankful for the light sunburn he earned yesterday, the blush will fade in nicely. _Stop it_ , he tells himself, _he thought you were a girl and now he thinks you’re an asshole_. The thing is, Keith may joke about Lance calling him beautiful, but the horrible truth is that he _liked_ it. He kind of hates himself for that because he prides himself in not caring about how he looks or about what other people think about him.

Oblivious to Keith’s internal struggle, Lance explodes at Pidge. “You little traitor!” he all but screams. His arms wave around wildly, practically pinwheeling, before his internal combustion becomes external again. “That’s it, I’m out.” Lance spins on his heal and starts walking away.

Pidge is cackling. Shiro is shaking his head slowly with a wide grin plastered on his face.

Keith is slightly panicking. For some reason, he doesn’t know what or why, he want’s Lance to stay. He wracks his brain for something to say that will bring him back. He’ll regret this later, but as long as he can keep up his cool asshole look, no one will be the wiser. He turns slightly to face Lance’s retreating figure, folds his arms casually over his chest, and raises an eyebrow.

“Non-stop since yesterday? I’m flattered,” Keith says over his shoulder. He has the deadpan snarky delivery _down_ , and he knows it. He can rile _anyone._ And Lance is easy to rile.

Lance spins around. “That’s not a compliment, _Asshole!_ ”

“No?” Keith says, letting a little of the satisfied grin bubbling up inside him to make it onto his face.

“No!” Lance snaps. His face his bright red as he stalks back towards Keith, “it’s just hard to forget someone as…insufferable as you.”

“While, you on the other hand, are making a _much_ better impression than you did yesterday,” Keith says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Lance makes another unintelligible noise.

Pidge burst out laughing. “Keith, can I just say, I think I love you. Man, you’ve made him speechless twice today. Do you know how _hard_ that is?”

“Pidge,” Lance squeals, “stop fraternizing with the enemy.”

“The enemy?” Shiro repeats, amused.

While Pidge says, “Lance, spell fraternizing.”

Lance gives her a look. “F R A T E N…”

“You missed the second ‘R’,” says Keith.

Lance crosses his arms over his chest and give Keith a flat stare. “So, you’re an expert in dolphins _and_ spelling. Wow, you really _do_ know everything.”

Keith bristles a little, seriously annoyed for the first time today. “You got a problem with that?”

“Oh, I’ve got a problem alright,” Lance says getting up in his personal space. “Let’s see how much you know without Google, Smart-guy. What’s the function of the melon? And I don’t mean fruit.”

“The melon is the adipose tissue organ in front of the dolphin’s cranium used for echo-location,” says Keith easily.

Lance looks mildly impressed for half a second before waving his hand dismissively. “That one was easy,” he says, “how do dolphins, air breathing mammals, survive in the water?”

“Their bone structure is lighter than land animals and they have an adjustable ribcage that protects their organs so they can swim in low pressure environments without damage. Unlike, humans, they have completely waterproof skin and excellent buoyancy. They’re strong and can swim for days without sleeping. When they do sleep, they close one eye at a time, never going into full shutdown so they can still rise to the surface to breath,” Keith answers.

“What fin does a dolphin use to steer?” Lance asks.

“Pectoral fins to steer and flukes to stop or speed up.”

“Name all 38 species of dolphin?”

“Here we go,” Shiro sighs.

Keith ignores his brother choosing instead to meet Lance’s stubborn glare straight on. He starts listing them off. “Common, Bottlenose, Spinner, Spotted, Striped, Long Finned Pilot, Short Finned Pilot, Heaviside…” He gets them all and takes unexpressed satisfaction in Lance’s astonishment.

“Alright _Smart Guy_ , by what percentage is the dolphin’s brain bigger than that of a human?”

“40. Give or take.”

“Which species is the most endangered?”

Pidge groans, “Keith, you’d better run, because this _will_ go on forever.”

“No, it won’t,” Shiro says, “because Lance has some fish buckets to clean before we send them back to the kitchen. They didn’t get done yesterday with all the excitement, so there’s double to do.”

Lance groans. “Shouldn’t that still be Hunk’s problem then, since ya know, he was the one that didn’t get them done?”

“Sorry, Lance, but Hunk is working with the penguins right now and Pidge has some sea lions to feed,” says Shiro. He sighs, “and I have a meeting with Zarkon and Allura to go to.”

Pidge pats his shoulder with understanding.

“But…” Lance starts.

Shiro interrupts. “Just get it over with.” He turns to Keith, “you can take the Jeep and pick me up later or…”

“You can come with me to see the sea lions,” Pidge says.

Keith looks down at the pool as a dolphin swims past. “If it’s OK, I think I’d like to stay here for a bit.” _With Lance_. But that’s an afterthought that goes unsaid. For some reason, he wants Lance to know that _he_ knows what he’s talking about. _And the fact that he’s hot has nothing to do with it,_ his sarcastic inner voice supplies, unhelpfully.

For his part, Shiro looks pleasantly surprised. “OK, yeah that’s fine with me. Lance, can you keep an eye on him for me?”

“I’m not five,” Keith pouts looking away. He ignores Shiro’s smirk.

“How can I keep an eye on the _Mullet_ and clean the buckets?” Lance demands.

Pidge gives Lance a smirk of her own. “I have a feeling you’ll manage. Just don’t neglect those buckets _too_ badly.” She winks. What the hell? But Keith doesn’t have time to process anything because Lance is sputtering again as she walks away, waving over her shoulder. “Later bitches. Nice meeting you, Keith.”

“Same here, Pidge,” Keith calls after her.

“Well, I’m off to that meeting,” Shiro announces, “stay out of trouble, you two.” He walks away as well leaving Keith alone with Lance.

As soon as Shiro is gone, Keith sobers up. This was a mistake. Staying here was a suicidal move. The most stupid impulsive thing Keith has done in a while, and that’s saying something because he is a _very_ stupid impulsive person. Whatever. Mistakes happen. Keith kneels by the pool again, and Red swims back to him. As long as he can talk to Red, he’ll be fine. Screw answering Lance’s dolphin questions—screw proving himself to a complete jerk—Keith should not have signed up for this.

“Let’s go Mullet,” says Lance with a resigned sigh.

_Go where?_ Annoyed and regretfully uncertain, Keith looks up at him with furrowed brows, hoping to look more aggravated than confused. “I’d rather stay here, thanks.”

Lance roles his eyes. “I can’t let you do that. I need to keep an eye on you and I also have work to do. Now either you come with me, or I kick you out.”

Keith’s brain is screaming at him. ‘ _Bad idea. Bad idea. Run away_.’ But he remains rooted to the spot because the truth is, he _wants_ to follow Lance. Curiosity is a bitch, OK.

Before he can do or say anything, Red sends a huge wave of water splashing up his backside. “Red!” Keith snaps, rounding on the dolphin. His mind is suddenly filled with Red’s laugher. Belatedly, he realizes that he had forgotten to cut off his telepathic communication like with her, like a human might forget to hang up the phone, and Red had heard _everything_ he’d just said in his head. _Oops_.

But Lance is laughing hysterically. Doubled over on himself, eyes crinkling in the corners, wide mouth open in the biggest brightest smile Keith has ever seen on anyone. It’s…well, it’s something. And Keith doesn’t have it in himself to be very mad at either Red or Lance. Not that he’ll let them know that of course. So he folds his arms over his chest, and lets his face become impossibly blank. He won’t give them the satisfaction of looking embarrassed or reacting in anger.

“Are you done yet?” he asks without emotion.

Lance wipes the tears from his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, Oooh boy.” He turns to the dolphin, “Red by buddy, my pal, you are the most amazing creature God _ever_ created.”

Keith roles his eyes. “Truly amazing,” he deadpans.

“Comm’on Mullet,” Lance says still laughing, “I have _many_ more trivia questions to annoy you with.”

“Oh joy.”

But he follows Lance anyways.

* * *

Shiro braces himself. He knows exactly what Zarkon is going to lay into him for this time. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. This meeting is going to be a waste of everyone’s time. Oh well, better get things over with.

Reluctantly, he pushes the door to Zarkon’s office wide open. Allura is already there. She’s seated in front of the desk in a cheap spinney chair, arms folded over her chest, shoulders tense, hair pulled back into a business-like bun. Her eyes brighten considerably when he walks in, but she does not otherwise acknowledge him. That would mean interrupting their boss.

Zarkon himself sits behind the desk looking a combination of both imposingly business-like and casual. His blue and white pinstripe button up is crisply professional, tie tight and straight, but bis jacket is draped over the filing cabinet and his sleeves are pushed up. He looks like every suspicious big business tycoon from the movies; the one you always suspect is the bad guy, but it takes till the end of the picture for the hero to prove it.

Zarkon interrupts himself and smiles at Shiro as he walks in. “Ah Takashi, please take a seat.”

Shiro takes the seat next to Allura, pulls it towards himself over the carpet and drops himself down. “You wanted to see me about something?”

Some of the superficial pleasantness washes out of Zarkon’s face as the ‘business look’ takes over. The effect is created by a combination of patronizing snakish smiles and intense calculating glances. When he speaks, his voice is low and level, and a little patronizing.

“Yes,” Zarkon says, “I found this report from yesterday evening on my desk when I came in this morning.” He waves said report above the desk. “Would you two kindly explain this unforeseen expense?”

Allura speaks up first. “Shiro got a call from someone at the beach asking for help with a beached dolphin. We had the equipment and the resources, so we went. That’s the whole story.”

Zarkon nails them with one of his displeased looks. “That little adventure shouldn’t have cost the aquarium 321 dollars. Dragging the animal back out to the water should have been free. But…” he indicates the report again, “you two authorized the use of a truck and the forklift, _to_ … _what?_ To bring it back here? Why?”

“ _She_ was sick,” says Allura, “she had a bad infection from a necrotic placenta. If we brought her back to the water, she would have simply beached again. The only question there would be, dead or alive?”

Shiro backs her up. “We’ve always had a marine mammal rescue program here. I have to stand by the call I made.”

“Oh I can see that,” Zarkon says, “and I’ll grant you permission to do as you will with your time, Takashi. Even Allura and Coran. You three don’t get over-time with your salaries. But you shouldn’t have kept those kids here late. Working violations aside, paying them extra from your mistake is cost this establishment a small fortune.”

“I couldn’t handle the situation alone and it was an emergency,” Allura cuts in.

“I’m afraid that isn’t my problem, my dear.” Zarkon waves her off a little irritably.

Shiro tries to bring the conversation back on track in the vague hope of smoothing things over. “She’ll be ready to go back to the wild in a month. It’s not like she’s going to continue to…”

“No,” says Zarkon sharply, “no. That dolphin is staying here. Aside from the fact that we can’t afford the cost of bringing her back to the beach, we need a few more dolphins anyways. Weren’t you the one saying all the extra shows were wearing the animals out? Well, while I’m still none to happy about this development, one good thing did come of your little escapade. It would have cost us more to buy another dolphin from Sea World, so perhaps this does work out for the best.”

And Shiro…wasn’t expecting that. _Keith is going to kill us_. “But sir, she isn’t getting along with the others,” he protests, “she won’t…”

“Then train her,” Zarkon snaps, “that’s what I’m paying your for isn’t it? To train the dolphins? Well, figure it out.” Zarkon rests his elbows on the desk and steeples his fingers together. “We don’t just hand out free healthcare to random dolphins we find on the beach. We’re not a marine life hospital anymore.”

Allura suddenly goes from looking diplomatically angry to furious. “That’s _precisely_ what Altea Bay Aquarium and Marine Life _Rehabilitation_ Center is. We’re about doing the right thing for the marine life under our care. My father…”

“Your father was a good man, Allura,” Zarkon interrupts her, “and you can’t know how much I miss his guidance. But he was not a businessman. And unfortunately, there’s no ‘get out of debt free’ card. We can’t keep authorizing these… _rescue missions_. They’re too expensive.”

Shiro puts a hand on Allura’s arm before she says something that gets them both in trouble. “We didn’t have a choice,” he says, “that dolphin was _dying_. If we didn’t do something…”

“And that’s a tragedy,” Zarkon says cutting him off. “I hate animal suffering, you know that. But the fact of the mater is, we are not responsible for the health and safety of all the dolphins in the area.”

“Like hell we aren’t,” Allura snaps, “what’s the point of doing all this research, of doing anything that we do, if not to take care of the animals in Altea? Isn’t that what we tell the press? That we’re saving wild dolphins by better coming to understand the ones in our care? Or is that just a lie we tell the public to get the activists off our back?”

“Allura,” Zarkon looks like he’s losing his patience. He leans forward towards her, hand pressing slowly but surely into his desk. “If you want to waste your time and money chasing after sick wild sea animals, that’s fine. But you will do it on your own time and on your own dime. Go join some research team or whatever if that’s what you want to do. But that’s not this aquarium’s problem.”

“I’m not going to chase down sick marine animals,” Allura counters, “but if one lands in my lap, I cannot—I will not—ignore it.”

“And I admire your dedication to your father’s vison,” Zarkon says. He leans back again with a longsuffering sigh. “You probably won’t believe this, but I do care about Alfor’s legacy. But think of it this way, what would come of all he built if we let the aquarium go belly up? And all because we mismanage things and squander money on frivolous mercy missions.”

Zarkon reaches across the desk as he speaks and picks up several papers. He flips through them, and presently turns select pages around so that Shiro and Allura can read them. “These are last month’s finance reports. We’re making headway towards getting this place back on its feet. But we’re not going to get anywhere fast if you two don’t work with me.”

Shiro picks up the papers and gives them a quick cursory inspection. Allura leans over the side of her seat to peer over his shoulder. After a moment or two, Shiro looks up at Zarkon over the top of the papers. He hefts them in the air a couple times. “Mind if I make a copy of these and study them back at my office?” he asks.

“Unfortunately, I can’t let you do that,” Zarkon says reaching over the desk to retrieve the reports. “This information is classified. Technically, I’m not supposed to be showing these papers to you two, but I just needed you to understand my point of view.”

At this point, Shiro realizes that arguing is futile. And he really just wants to get out of the office and back to work, preferably with Allura in tow. He forces a polite smile onto his face and nods, pretending to allow Zarkon’s words to take root in his head. “If that will be all, I really have a lot of work to do.”

“Yes of course,” says Zarkon, “I’m not paying you to sit around here. But next time Takashi, you will run your rescue mission by me first. Am I understood?”

Allura looks like she’s about to say something. And if Shiro knows anything about her, she doesn’t have anything pleasant to say. More likely, she’ll tear Zarkon apart. And while that fighting spirit of hers is one of the things Shiro loves about her, it won’t help them right now. Right now, Zarkon is their boss and they just have to deal. Fighting him outright won’t work—they don’t have that kind of pull with the board—resistance is the name of the game. If they’re going to get what they want, they have to be subtle, quietly aggressive, asking for forgiveness rather than permission. Allura doesn’t like this game, and frankly neither does he, but Shiro is tactically savvy. He understands that sometimes you have to bite your tongue for the greater good.

Which is why he grabs Allura’s arm, puling her up out of her seat before she can turn the meeting into a full on chewing out. “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, “you have a good rest of your day sir.”

Shiro leads the way out of the office and down the back hallways of the aquarium; behind the freshwater exhibits, past the kitchen and the aquarist showers, and finally through the back door out into the open air. He keeps a quick pace. Allura keeps up with him, briskly businesslike and beautiful as always. Beautiful and deadly.

“Why did you just let him win?” Allura demands, she lengthens her stride to get just enough ahead to look him in the eye, “you were right—you made the right call—why would you just role over and let him talk down to you like that? Shiro? Shiro, are you even listening to me?”

He turns down a narrow employee path that leads back to his office and away from public eyes. When he’s sure the tourists can’t overhear their conversation, he answers. “Because it wouldn’t do me any good. He won’t listen. And getting the both of us fired will mean he brings in other people who agree with his new vison. And what will become of this place then? What will happen to the animals if we get thrown out? What about Coran, and Pidge, Lance, and Hunk?”

The fire that blazes in her blue eyes dims just a bit with defeat. “Fuck.”

“We need to pick our battles, Allura,” he says quietly, “Zarkon has the full backing of the board of directors.”

She spits on the gravel by her feet. “So, we take our orders from a bunch of greedy investors? The board only cares about making money and you know it.”

“I do.” Shiro feels tired. Working at the aquarium used to bring him so much joy, gave him some purpose, brought some much-needed softness to his life after his tour in Afghanistan. Now it drains him. Now it makes him feel old.

Allura give him a loose comforting hug. He wraps his arms around her and rests his chin on the top of her head. “We’ll hang on,” he promises her, “and one day, we’ll get this place back on track.”

“How?” she murmurs. He hates how he can hear the uncertainty under the fire in her voice.

“I don’t know,” he admits, “but I _do_ know we’ll make it happen.”

* * *

Lance pauses his endless stream of marine life trivia questions, stands, and cracks his back. The buckets are clean, the toys are clean, the water is A-OK. He’s finally ready to take a break. He looks over at Keith still perched on the little divider wall between the pool deck and the utility hut.

“Well that’s that,” Lance declares, “I’m going on lunch. I’m so hungry, those fish were starting to sound good.”

Keith shakes his head with something resembling amusement, but he doesn’t look as disgusted as Lance had expected. “Alright, enjoy your people food then,” he says. He gets up and takes a few steps towards the foot bridge over to the little canal between the stadium and the exhibit pool.

“Hey, where are you going?” Lance demands.

Keith’s eyebrows draw together. He’d look irritated if he wasn’t so busy looking confused. “If you’re going on your lunch break, then I’m going to go find Shiro and blow this popsicle stand.”

Lance snorts. Then he laughs.

“What?” Keith still looks confused but now the annoyed undertone is starting to resurface. “What’s so funny?”

“You,” Lance can’t stop smiling, “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Said what?”

“No one uses that phrase anymore. That came from the 60’s. _That’s before your mullet_.”

Keith crosses his arms over his chest. “Why are you so stuck on my hair?”

“Uh, because it’s hilarious. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Keith deadpans.

“Bu anyhoo back on track; why do you need Shiro?”

Keith looks confused again, or rather confused on Lance’s behalf. “Because if you’re all busy, and you won’t leave me with the dolphins, then I’m out of here.”

“Dude, I’m _not_ busy!” Lance protests, “I just told you I’m going on lunch break. That’s like, as _un_ busy as I’m going to get today. It’s the perfect time to play trivia.”

“Oh, is that what we’ve been doing?”

“Yes!” Lance runs his filthy, fishy hands under the hose before shutting off the tap. He straightens and wipes them dry on the front of his wetsuit. “OK, let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“Back to the breakroom so I can get my lunch out of my locker.”

Keith roles his eyes, but he falls into step behind Lance without further objection.

Lance leads them through a little gate behind the utility hut at the very back of the dolphin pool, and down a narrow pebble pathway. The aquarium is happily situated on the water and the employee paths run behind the out-door exhibits along the seawall. They walk behind Voltron Stadium where the dolphin shows are held, under the various palm trees, and finally through another little chain-link gate with an ‘Employees Only’ sign at the other end.

The walk is comfortably silent, filled instead with screams of the Killer Whale show spectators. The ruckus from the stadium is loud enough that they’d need to shout in order to hear each other, and mercifully, Keith has decided that isn’t worth it. The silence gives Lance the chance to actually stop and _think_.

Mixed feelings.

Lance has so many mixed emotions right now, it’s hard to keep track of them all. On the one hand, he still hates Keith. He absolutely, fucking despises that man. And not for his mullet. If Lance is honest with himself, that’s just jealousy talking. He’s jealous, bitter, disappointed in himself, reevaluating his life choices…he just feels so… _insecure_. And it’s all Keith’s fault.

The fact is, he started the whole trivia game to prove to Keith that _he_ knows his shit. To prove to that asshole which one of them _should_ be taking care of the dolphins. But then his plan backfired, because Keith knows his marine life trivia too. Maybe Keith didn’t spend four years at college and three years of shitty internships to learn it, but Lance hasn’t stumped the asshole yet. And that’s not fucking fair! Lance should be _crushing_ him at this trivia-thing. After all, Lance _did_ spend four years of college and three years of shitty internships to learn everything. He studied his poor little ass off to become a dolphin trainer. He did a double major in biology and psychology and spent every summer volunteering at aquariums and taking grunt work internships. And _even after all that_ , his future wasn’t secure because the percentage of people who actually get hired for these kinds of positions is like 1 to 137. Lance went through hell to get where he is. And it bothers him that some hot-shot artist off the beach knows as much about dolphins does.

In short, Lance is pissed. Keith is his rival now. Because there’s no fucking way that asshole should know all this…this…dolphin _crap_ if he didn’t devote his life to it.

It’s all just so unfair.

It stings.

But at the same time, he’s starting to think he can’t _hate_ hate Keith. Aside from the fact that Keith is Shiro’s younger brother and they just might have to see each other again some time, he doesn’t completely dislike the guy as a person. Sure Keith is an asshole. He’s reserved, bitingly sarcastic, edgy and blunt, and arrogant as fuck. But he did put up with Lance bugging him with an endless stream of questions; accidently spraying him with cold water and fish guts for an hour and a half. And he put up with it more or less without complaint. Lance will give credit where credit is due: that takes a special kind of patience.

Most people take a while to warm up to Lance and his competitiveness—even Hunk and Pidge can’t take it sometimes—but Keith did. For some weird reason, in some weird way, Keith doesn’t seem to mind. Even when he tells Lance to ‘shut up’ or ‘fuck off’, Lance doesn’t get the impression he really means it.

The fact is, Keith could have left Lance to his torturous cleaning job like all the others—he could have gone with Pidge to feed the sealions or taken Shiro’s car and headed for the hills instead—he _could_ have, but he didn’t. Instead, Keith had just perched himself on the divider to the utility hut and let Lance fire away.

And Lance thinks he might know why.

Keith enjoys the game as much as he does.

And that makes them rivals. But it also makes them kind of kindred spirits. They’re both competitive idiots.

Perhaps that’s the reason Lance finds himself starting to like the asshole in spite of himself. And in spite of the damage it’s doing to his self-esteem. Keith rises to his challenges. And Lance kind of likes that about him. He likes having someone to goad into competing with him. Someone who takes the bait. Someone who rises to the challenge and matches him blow for blow. Jab for jab.

He hates himself for enjoying the competition, hates it even more that Keith is so much fun to poke with verbal jousts, but he can see this being a _thing_ a little further down the road. Because there _will_ be a road to go further down. Keith is Shiro’s little brother, and now that he knows that— _knows him_ —Lance is sure it won’t be long before Keith gets dragged into the vaudeville act that his life for good. All that’s left for Lance to do is to make sure it happens on his terms.

And then there’s that little _insignificant_ fact that he keeps trying to banish from his brain: Keith is kind of _hot_. It’s something he can’t properly acknowledge since their disastrous first meeting at the beach, but every now and then, Keith does something that forces that one unwanted thought to the forefront of his brain. A little quirk of his head. A yawn barely hidden in his bicep. A flash of challenge in his eyes. The way a little stretch exposes a thin band of bare skin between the hem of his shirt and his pants. His little asshole smirks he gives when he answers a though question. He’s just kind of hot OK. And it’s bad for Lance’s brain.

He hates Keith. He’s starting to like Keith.

Keith is his rival. Keith might be a kindred spirit.

Mixed feelings. Lance is starting to have really mixed feelings.

But it’s still too early to tell.

Fortunately, he finds a distraction for his poor restless mind. Lance punches in the four-digit code on the shower house door and pushes it open. The secondary office is empty except for them. There’s a little anteroom between Shiro’s office and the break room where all the lockers are. Beyond that are the showers but Lance isn’t going to bother de-dolphining yet. He’ll just wash his hands for now and shower at the end of the day.

“Welcome to the dolphin trainer HQ,” Lance says grandly as he walks towards his locker. He watches Keith out of the corner of his eye as he peeks round the opposite corner into Shiro’s office. When he turns back to lance, there’s the hint of a teasing smile in his lips.

“The HQ, huh?” he says crossing his arms over his chest.

Lance has to look away just in case Keith actually does smile. His mixed feelings will only get more mixed. “Yeah. This is like where the after party happens. Ya know, like after everyone else leaves and it’s just you and your little group of besties having a chill time?”

“No,” says Keith. He says it matter of factly, but so softly that Lance has to turn around again and study his face. But Lance can’t read Keith. He’s inscrutable and Lance is forced to give it up before things get weird. Fortunately, for Lance, Keith breaks the silence before he has to come up with something stupid to fill it.

“Which one is Shiro’s locker?” Keith asks.

Lance reaches over and taps the locker two down from his own; the one with the big America flag stickers and the chipped Micky Mouse padlock. “That one. Why?”

“Should’ve known,” Keith mutters under his breath.

He steps up to the locker and grabs the padlock. Keith makes quick work of the combination and the door swings open. He rummages through Shiro’s crap. Shiro keeps a lot of shit in his locker; a bunch of old tee-shirts, a set of scrubs for those few times he helps Allura in the clinic, a few empty water-bottles, random keys, a copy of Jules Vern, a pair of boxer shorts, a Ziplock bag with a couple sandwiches, half a bag of Doritos, and lots of random paycheck receipts. Keith has his hands full digging through everything without it all spilling out onto the floor.

“What are you looking for?” Lance queries.

“I’m looking for…” Keith continues his search for a few seconds longer, “ah-ha, here they are.”

Keith pulls out a little snack sized packet of peanut M&Ms. Lance feels his jaw drop open of its own accord _._

“Dude.” Lance can’t be sure his voice didn’t just squeak.

“Dude _what?_ ” Keith asks quirking an eyebrow at him.

“You just broke into Shiro’s locker and stole his candy!”

Keith just shrugs. “And your point is?”

“You can’t just steal his candy! When he finds out you took it…”

Without a word, Keith passes a packet of skittles to Lance and shuts the locker. He twists the padlock a few times to lock up. And Lance…has nothing more to say on the matter. He pockets the skittles, which will go great with his turkey sandwich by the way, and grabs a tee-shirt from his own locker. He is now Keith’s partner in crime. If Shiro asks, he suspects Pidge finally cracked the code.

While Keith steals a paper cup from the top of the 5-gallon water dispenser, Lance strips down the top half of his wetsuit and pulls the tee-shirt over his head. Since he isn’t on salary yet, Lance punches out on the clock before grabbing his things and heading for the door.

“Come on, Mullet,” he says over his shoulder, “let’s eat outside.”

“You just like dragging me all over this place or something?” Keith asks. “What happened to ‘he isn’t supposed to be back here?”

Lance shrugs. “Shiro said you were interviewing for a job. As far anyone is concerned, that’s the story. If they don’t like it, they can take it up with Shiro.”

Once again, Lance takes the lead. This time to his second favorite spot; a fence behind the aquarium shaded by sparsely planted palm trees. From the fence, they can look out over the ocean and watch the little white crested waves dance under the sunlight or fold against the decrepit wooden dock. Lance stops under the shade of a short palm tree and begins to make himself comfortable. He leans his back against the fence and crosses one ankle in front of the other.

Keith only hesitates for a second before jumping up on the fence a couple feet away. He somehow manages to man-spread on the narrow rail of the fence, hunched forward with his elbows braced on his knees, as he opens his stolen snack.

_How the fuck does he get to be both adorkable and cool? That’s not fucking fair!_

Lance redirects his attention towards his lunch or else he’ll start glaring at Keith. Just because the guy is a dick doesn’t mean he’s being a dick _right now_ , so Lance doesn’t really have a good reason to antagonize him. Instead, he goes back to asking trivia questions around mouthfuls of turkey sandwich. Pidge would yell at him for talking with his mouthful—even Lance finds that annoying and he’s the one _doing_ it—but again, Keith doesn’t really seem bothered.

They sit like that for the duration of Lance’s lunch break. Even after they’ve finished eating, they keep going. Lance can’t be sure when it happened, but eventually some of the tension eased out of the game. They’re still both very competitive, but some of the edge is gone. Even some of the spite. Lance is having fun. He thinks Keith is too even if the guy won’t even give him _one_ fucking smile.

“OK then,” says Lance, “who played Sawyer Nelson in _A Dolphin’s Tale_?”

For the first time, Keith looks completely stumped. “What?”

“Who played Sawyer Nelson in _A Dolphin’s Tale?_ ”

“Why the fuck would I know that?! It’s not even relevant.”

Lance gasps dramatically. “How is it not relevant? It’s a _dolphin_ movie!”

“Yeah, but it’s not important,” Keith argues.

“Not _important_?” Lance repeats incredulously, “not IMPORTANT! That movie is my _jam_. That and _The Little Mermaid_.”

Keith actually snorts at that and gives him a suppressed smirk. “You’re kidding right?”

“NO!” And before Keith can think he’s a total looser, Lance brings the conversation back on track. “And don’t change the subject. Who played Sawyer Nelson?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t fucking _care,”_ says Keith with an exasperated scowl.

“Ah-ha! So you admit that I’ve stumped you.”

Keith grinds his teeth, “yeah, with a stupid-ass question that isn’t even _relevant.”_

Lance just laughs. “I _stumped_ you. Oh yeah, baby.”

Unfortunately, his victory dance is cut short by his alarm. _Is it really that late?_ His phone sounds angry as it blasts the theme song from _Pirates of the Caribbean_ at him. Slightly self-conscious, Lance pulls it out of his pocket to shut off the alarm before Keith thinks he’s a total looser nerd.

“What’s that?” Keith asks.

“My alarm. I have to go back to work and get ready for the afternoon’s show.”

“Oh. Nice.”

For a second, Lance doesn’t care about the dolphin show—which is really fucking strange because he _loves_ the dolphin shows—but right now, Lance just wants to keep playing with Keith. A small part of him is afraid that Keith will run away today, and it’ll take weeks for them to see each other again. A small part of him isn’t OK with that.

He holds out his hand to Keith before he either looses his nerve or has a bout of better judgment. “Gimme your phone.”

Keith looks suspicious. “Why?”

“So I can text you, _duh._ ”

For a horrifying second, Lance thinks Keith is uncomfortable with that. He thinks Keith will just pick himself up off the fence and walk off. But then a phone with a red case decorated with a little UFO decal and the words ‘open your eyes’ is placed in his hand. Lance opens snapchat and puts in his contact info. After a second of hesitation, he also adds his phone number to Keith’s contact list as well under the name, ‘I’ve_Got_Lance_in_My_Pants’ but he thinks better of that, and changes his mane back to ‘Lance.’

“There. Now download Trivia Crack 2,” he says handing the phone back to Keith.

Keith gives him a suspicious look. “Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“That’s not a good enough reason.”

“Baby, you don’t _need_ a reason.” Lance shoots off his finger guns.

Keith ducks, hiding behind his hair, as he shakes his head. “God, you’re an embarrassment to mankind.”

“And you’re an asshole,” Lance counters trying not to sound defensive, because yes, he knows what he signed up for when he started talking to Keith. They might be getting along better, but that doesn’t mean the guy suddenly went through a personality mind wipe. “See you around, Mullet. And don’t forget, Trivia Crack 2.”

He walks away, leaving Keith to find his own way back from the fence. Because Keith isn’t the _only_ asshole out of the two of them.

* * *

**[Thursday, 6:59 PM]**

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Hey, it’s Lance

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Never would have guessed

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Well excuse me. I was just trying to be polite

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** You’re a real gentleman

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Stop soliciting over text

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** *sarcasaming

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Whatever you say, Lance

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** I know you didn’t mean that

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Did you download the app I told you to get?

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Yes

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Good. Ok, I checked out the ocean one. We literally covered everything in it so there’s no point. So we’re gonna doo the music one instead

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Oh god no

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Why not? Scared you’re gonna loose to me?

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** No.

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Then log in and let’s get this party started

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** This isn’t a party

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** You right.

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** This is war!

**[7:36 PM]**

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Dude, wtf! I’d brag about beating you but that was so pitiful, it almost hurts me to do it. Do you know anything about music?

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Not after 1990

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** No wait, that’s a lie. I know some Panic at the Disco

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** And some Imagine Dragons and a little Walk the Moon

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** I repeat, what the fuck dude?

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Dose these names mean anything to you? Beyoncé, Shakira, Taylor Swift, Arianna Grande, Adele…

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Yes. They are greater than or equal to Chinese water torture

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Dove Cameron, Justin Timberlake, Marron 5, Ed Sheeran

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** DUuuuuUde!!!

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** How can you say that!

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** You know what, I don’t think I can talk to you anymore. Good night. Adios. Ciao. Good bye.

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Whatever

**[Friday, 8:47 PM]**

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** I challenge you to a general science trivia match!

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** I thought you couldn’t talk to me anymore

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** I changed my mind. Beating you is too much fun

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** You can’t see me rn, but I’m rolling my eyes at you

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Just log into the fucking app and prepare for total spankage, take 2

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** What are you implying?

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Fjkfigngnf!!!!! You know exactly what I’m implying!

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Do I tho?

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Must you do this to me?

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Yes

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Just log in already

**[Saturday, 2:03 PM]**

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** I challenge you to a trivia war!

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Aren’t you at work?

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** I’m on break

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Didn’t we finish every trivia category on the entire app LAST NIGHT!

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Technically, early this morning, but yes

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** But I found a _NEW_ app. And it’s _harder_.

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** That’s not good for you

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Shut the fuck up. We tied!

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** 157 to 154 isn’t a tie Lance

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Download Disneyland Trivia TRVILATOR Multi-Player

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Really?

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** YES!

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Fine.

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Use your fucking mermaid name so I can find you

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Fine.

**[9:14]**

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** How is this harder Lance?

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** It’s harder for you isn’t it?

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Fuck you

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Aww…Keith…we only just met

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** FuCk YoU!

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Hahaha

**[Sunday, 11:28 AM]**

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** I challenge you to a trivia battle!

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Not right now

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Don’t you want a chance to redeem yourself?

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Not right now

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Why? What are you doing?

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Painting. I’m at the beach and I don’t want to use up all my data playing trivia

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Ok , that’s fair

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Have fun and don’t get heat stroke. I need your brain in one piece

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Wouldn’t it be better for you if my brain wasn’t in one piece?

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** I can beat you at your best and you know it

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Whatever

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Happy painting asshole :)

**[Yesterday, 8:38 PM]**

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Yo, Trivia Crack 2 just updated with 2 new rounds

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** One of them is on US military history

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Are we still doing this?

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** YES!

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** No

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Keeeeith… :’( you’re breaking my heart

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** I’ve been rejected

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** My trivia rival has cut me off

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** He chickened out

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Oh my god! Fine! Just shut up

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Yay!

**[10:00 PM]**

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Nice try, _Sharpshooter_

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Good night

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** XD

**[Today, 10:25 PM]**

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** I challenge you to a trivia war!

**[10:52]**

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** You have been challenged!

**[11:17]**

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Dude!

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Keeeeeeiiiiithhhh where are yoooooooooooou?????

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Keeeeeeeeith?

**[11:32]**

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** What?

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Dude! Where were you!

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Trying to help the colonel get the hooch-mobile up and running

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** THe who, the what?

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** I live in a trailer park with a punch of retired army people. And the hooch-mobile is basically a 1962 pickup truck with a jerry-rigged still in the back

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** That’s actually so sick. Dude, my house is so boring rn. Hunk has been in the kitchen for hours making pies for his mom’s bake sale and Pidge is watching conspiracy theory videos

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Maybe you should join her. Get some real news in your Brian

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Yes, my Brian could use that XD

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** You know what I meant

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Do I tho? ;)

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** I hate you

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** I know you mean love

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** What sort of conspiracy is she watching?

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** 9/11 was an inside job

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Probably was

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** This is getting out of hand, now there are two of them!

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Did you just quote Star Wars at me?

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** B)

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Seriously tho, youre a conspiracy theorist?

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** The moon landing was a fake, 9/11 was an inside job, our elections are rigged, Epstein didn’t kill himself, aliens built the pyramids, and mermaids are REAL

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** I literally have no idea what to do with that

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Mermaids are real? Seriously? Even Pidge doesn’t believe _that_

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Well, I do

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Oh my god Keith! You crushed that trivia game, you’ve got an eclectic store of knowledge, you’re like a closet mega nerd, and yet somehow you believe in mermaids?! How do you justify that?

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Does it matter?

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Yes!

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Too bad

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Suddenly your username makes so much more sense

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** You have no idea

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** What does THAT mean?

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Does it matter?

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Stop doing that!

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Good night Lance

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** What?! No trivia?!

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** It’s midnight

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Soo….!!!???

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Good night

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Ugh, fine

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Good night Keith

Lance smiles down at his phone. Sometimes, Keith makes him laugh. Badass, grumpy-pants, emo, mullet-man Keith believes in mermaids. That’s literally the best thing he’s heard in a while. It’s hilarious! And kind of adorable if he’s being honest with himself. If he’s being honest with himself, his mixed feelings are only getting more mixed; he has such a love/hate relationship with this asshole, that he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. So it’s probably a good thing he _isn’_ t being honest with himself.

They’ve been engaged in the trivia war of the century for a week now, and it’s actually been good for Lance. He enjoys the competition. As much as Pidge teases him about their stupid ‘dick measuring contest’, Lance can’t bring himself to let it go. He likes beating Keith too much. Sure, he loses as often as he wins, but it’s worth it for those times he gets to rub his rival’s nose in the afterglow of his own success.

He chucks his phone aside—he’ll charge it in the morning—and flops back on his pillow. Maybe it’s for the best Keith won’t be keeping him up tonight. He’s got a long day ahead of him tomorrow. They’ve got an extra dolphin show in the afternoon thanks to Zarkon’s interference in Shiro’s schedule, and Lance has to take the lead. He’s replacing _Shiro_. And that’s a _little_ terrifying. Usually, he gets to just be the goofball and take the dolphins through their tricks, but tomorrow he’s coordinating the _entire show._ He’ll be on mike the whole time. It’s a good thing he is good at improv because there’s no way he’ll get through the whole script without screwing up.

He feels a familiar buildup in his chest. A certain something that makes him want to scream into his pillow. A certain something that won’t let him sleep.

_Ah, anxiety my old friend_.

So with pleasant thoughts of screwing up his big debut as the lead dolphin trainer in tomorrow’s show, he settles down to sleep. The irony of Keith not keeping him up with a trivia game though, is that Keith is _still_ keeping him up in another way. The mullet has burrowed himself in the back of Lance’s brain. For good or for evil has yet to be determined.

One thing is certain though; Keith is several shades of amazing.

_I can’t believe he believes in mermaids._

Lance drifts off to sleep.

* * *

To find and the artist, please visit: [ashenangel2](https://www.deviantart.com/ashenangel2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, thanks so much again for reading and getting to the end of chapter 2. Sorry it's so long. A quick shout out to every one of you amazing people who left a nice review, you made chapter two happen, so thank you for the motivation :)
> 
> Again, if you want to check out the artist, please support and visit Alex over at DiviantArt. They put more than 49 hours into the illustrations start to finish. 
> 
> Thanks again and stay awesome, Ghostwriter_Red


	3. Dolphin Shows, Volleyball, and a Little Common Sense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Today, 11:27 PM]  
> Nota_fucking_Mermaid: Ps. Shiro’s Jeep is going into the shop tomorrow morning. I’m picking him and Allura up at work. Say hi, if you’re around  
> ShutUpAndLanceWithMe: Well, now I that I have fair warning, I know to run away from your mullet  
> ShutUpAndLanceWithMe: JK. See you tomorrow

“We’ve got a full house out there.”

“Hunk, where’s the big hoop?”

“I dunno.”

“I thought you said you were getting it!”

“Oh, I meant _these_ hoops. The big one is still at the sea lion exhibit.”

“The _fuck_ is it doing there?”

“Woah, sorry Pidgy. I thought Nyma had it.”

“Don’t you _dare_ pin this on me, Hunk Garret. That’s not my job!”

“Guys chill. I’ll get it.”

“Thanks, Rolo.”

This is chaos. Complete and utter chaos. In two minutes, the intro music for the show is going to start and nobody is even close to being ready. Lance has no idea how to wrangle his team. Has no idea how to lead them like Shiro. And it shows.

Things were already off to a rocky start, and now Rolo has run off because—and Lance isn’t going to place blame here—somehow someone _forgot_ the big hoop back at the sea lion exhibit. Which is great. Just great.

Lance has all but given up on trying to be the leader here. The only two who actually _listen_ to him are, not surprisingly, Hunk and Rolo. Because Pidge. Nobody commands Pidge. And Nyma? Oh boy. Working with his ex has been hard enough. But being put in charge of the show, effectively becoming her manager for half of the day, that’s been all kinds of disastrous. Like unbearably disastrous. Like nuclear war disastrous. Nyma seems to have made it her mission in life to show contempt for his authority at every opportunity. To which Lance has but one unvoiced response: _hello, I get it, Nyma. I heard you loud and clear the first time. Now can we please act like civilized adults here?_

But _no_. That’s too much to ask for, _apparently_.

“Yo Lance! You’re up dude,” shouts Hunk breaking apart his scattered thoughts.

Lance’s fingers fumble with the switch on the microphone pack clipped to the back of his wetsuit. His hands are shaking. He had been excited to be taking on more responsibility in the show, but he’s quickly finding this all to be a little much. He isn’t sure how much more he can handle, and the show hasn’t even _started_ yet.

They’re still gathered back behind the scaffolding and backdrop of Voltron Stadium, beside the canal that leads to the exhibition pool. There’s a clear blue sky overhead, dazzling sunlight shimmering on the surface of the pool, and two thousand people on the bleachers making an excited ruckus not a hundred feet away. And Lance just knows he’s going to disappoint them. He can feel it. Hell, he’s been feeling it since he went through five headsets looking for one that worked.

And that’s just sad. Because usually Lance loves doing dolphin shows. He loves the cheering crowd. Loves when the kids get so excited to see the cool tricks. Loves the part where he gets to introduce one lucky family to the dolphins and bring them on stage with him. Lance isn’t afraid of the crowd. In fact, he revels in the attention. Eats it right up. He loves it all. Usually. He’s not sure this time around.

But he’s fine. Everything is absolutely fine.

“You good buddy?” asks Hunk when Lance fails to respond.

A large but gentle hand lands on his shoulder and gives him an encouraging squeeze. Lance digs up a smile for his friend. No sense in making everyone else nervous with him when they’re just about to head on stage. “I’m great, Hunk. We’re gonna knock their socks off.”

Hunk laughs and pats Lance on the back. “Right. You’re gonna be great.”

“Hell yeah we are!” declares Lance, punching a fist in the air.

Hunk smiles confidently as he roles a hula-hoop around his wrist. “I’d better get to my post. Razzle-dazzle time.”

“Right back atcha buddy,” says Lance shooting off their preshow dance move, bent arms framing his face, jazz hands fluttering for dramatic affect. Hunk mirrors his move with a laugh and heads off the open the gate for the dolphins while Lance jogs to the little door at the back of the stadium. The one behind the diving boards and faux rock set, where Shiro usually enters.

His head jerks upwards and to the left as the music starts and a recording of Coran’s voice booms over the speaker system. “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Voltron Stadium Dolphin Show. Feel free to record or take pictures during the show, however, we do not allow flash photography. Those of you seated in the first two rows, please be advised that you are sitting in the ‘Splash Zone’. If you do not wish to get soaked during your dolphin show experience, please use this time to get to higher ground. Thank you all for joining us today and enjoy the show.”

 _Here goes nothing_.

Lance steps out onto the pool deck that doubles as the Voltron Stadium stage. He waves to the cheering crowd, a wide smile on his face. The show has begun and Lance lives for these moments. He is, after all, a performer and more than willing to deliver.

Things do _not_ go according to plan.

They started off well. Lance managed to keep right on top of everything and he was oozing confidence. But then he got to a point in the preset music that he didn’t recognize and just… _blanked_. Everything fled his mind. Completely abandoned him. Fucked off. Left the building. Ciao. Adios. Because Lance McClain can just fend for himself up on the stage in front of a _thousand people_.

Lance is a master showman. So he somehow manages to smile and bluff his way through as far as the audience is concerned. But his team knows better. Lance watches Hunk, Rolo, and Pidge do their best to go along with his improvisations. Hunk keeps a smile on his face the whole time, but Pidge and Rolo just can’t seem to help looking confused. Because the whole show is completely out of order and they’re off the music pretty badly.

Nyma doesn’t even bother trying to go along with it. Every time he makes another bluff, she rolls her eyes pointedly in his direction. She scowls throughout the whole thing; expression telling him that she _knows_ what the right order is, could get them back on track if she wanted to, but doesn’t have any interest in _helping him out_. She’d rather watch him crash and burn.

Every snide look, every roll of the eyes, every sarcastic scoff she sends him throws Lance further off the groove. And at some point even improvising becomes impossible.

In the end, the show is a complete disaster. And Lance is not OK with that.

* * *

Lance is wallowing. Or maybe dying slowly on the inside. Probably both. It feels like both.

His heartrate still hasn’t come down since he left Voltron Stadium. His palms still feel clammy. His hands are still shaking. He keeps replaying every mistake he made over, and over, and over again in his head. He wants to think about something else—wishes he _could_ think about something else—but he just _can’t_. He can’t _move on_. And it’s really getting old.

He’s still so…so… _something,_ that he can’t do anything, even to distract himself. All he can do is moan and groan and talk and talk. He talks about everything and nothing. He needs attention. He needs solitude. He needs Hunk and Pidge to _understand._ But at the same time, he doesn’t want to hear their criticism—doesn’t want them to confirm that, yes, he _messed up_ —so he doesn’t _explain_. He just makes noises and flops on the couch when they ignore him. God, Lance is such a hot mess right now.

With an indistinguishable squeal, he drops his hips forward to the edge of the couch and slumps against the backrest. His chin is pressed into is collar bone and he has to strain his eyes to see the TV over his chest. He glances sideways at Hunk and Pidge, still to wrapped up in their game of Super Smash Bros to register his whining. Though, to be fair to them, he has been doing it since they got home. As soon as he didn’t have to play human anymore, all pretense of adulthood evaporated.

And he’s fine with that.

Because, let’s be real here, Lance might be 22 and out of college but that doesn’t mean he’s ready for all this adulting shit that comes with graduation.

Pidge sits cross-legged with the controller low in her lap, watching Hunk’s character with piercing beady eyes behind her big glasses. Hunk sits on the other side of her, leaning sideways into the armrest shouting random things at Pidge as the controller jerks in his hands.

“Pidge!” Hunk shouts, “stop whacking me with your golf-club.”

“Then stop making it so easy,” Pidge counters.

Hunk jumps a little in his seat as his character nearly falls off the map. “Oh, I will _ruin_ you for that!” he threatens.

Pidge just looks smug. “Bring in on Marshmallow.”

“I _will_ unleash my bucket of water on you,” Hunk tries.

Lance just watches passively for a bit, neither engaged nor indifferent. He’s hit the twilight zone. Almost.

“Down B, down B!” Hunk screams at himself.

Pidge snorts. “Don’t tell me what you’re going to do.”

“Well _excuse_ me,” says Hunk as he tries to beat Peach off the map, “but Lance is usually screaming in my ear at this point, so I’ve developed some bad habits to drown him out.”

“Oh, so this is _my_ fault,” says Lance.

“YES!” shouts Hunk.

“OK, but like, I’ve been shouting and shit all day and you’ve been _ignoring_ me…”

“And I intend to keep ignoring you,” says Pidge.

“Rude!” Lance shouts. “Ya know, just for that, I’m on Hunk’s side.” He lifts one leg in the air and drops it sideways over pidge’s knobby knees.

“Dude, move your leg.” Pidge shoves his leg blindly off her lap.

Lance groans and lets his leg flop back in place. Truth is, he just wants some kind of physical contact right now. He needs something to ground him. But even though he and Pidge are close, Lance isn’t about to put that thought into actual _words_. So annoying her in the name of being on Hunk’s side just seems like the better option.

“Move,” Pidge hisses.

Too late. Hunk has already taken advantage of Pidge’s distraction and knocked Peach off the map. The big guy punches a fist in the air and shouts, “Ah-ha! Eat it, Peach!”

“Lance!” Pidge screeches, “you lost me the game.”

“Yeah well, you were ignoring me,” he pouts.

Pidge turns a baleful eye on him. “You have my attention.”

“I don’t want it anymore,” Lance grouses.

“What do you want then?” asks Pidge.

Lance throws his arms against the back-rest cushions and slides forwards the rest of the way off the couch. “I don’t knooooooow…”

Pidge throws her hands in the air. “Hunk, you deal with this. I can’t. It’s not happening.”

Hunk leans over Pidge and tries to hand Lance the second controller, but he pushes it back again. “Not in the mood.”

“My mom gave me all the leftovers from the bake sale this morning. I have some of those lemon bars you like,” Hunk tries.

“I can’t eat yet,” Lance says.

Pidge growls. “Is this still about the show?”

Lance says nothing. Which is, if you know him, basically the same as saying yes.

Pidge loses it. “That was almost five hours ago!”

“Yeah well, it _sucked_ OK. _I_ sucked,” Lance blurts.

“No you didn’t man,” Hunk says kindly, “you did the best you could on short notice. I don’t know anyone else on the team who could have done it any better. Nobody blames you for making a couple mistakes.”

“Well, I blame me,” Lance snaps.

Hunk sighs. “Please, try not to do that. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Yes I _did_!”

“Lance, breath OK,” says Hunk.

“Ugh.” Lance gets up and throws himself back at the couch. “I can’t believe I screwed that up so badly,” he mumbles under his breath.

Pidge smooshes his face between her two tiny but solid hands. “You were great. Accept that.”

Lance shakes himself free. “Even if I could think that, Shiro will never trust me with the dolphin shows again. Because it doesn’t matter what _I_ think, it matters what…”

“ _Of course_ it matters what you think,” Pidge interrupts, “because if you can’t get it through your head that you can do this, then next time Shiro asks you to take over, you won’t take it.”

“That’s the point,” Lance is really trying not to scream right now, “Shiro will never _ask_ again.”

“ _Yes he will,”_ Hunk insists, “dude, Shiro is the king of second chances. And third and fourth chances. And he believes in you.”

“Yep,” Pidge agrees, “Shiro believes in you. Hunk believes in you. Coran believes in you. Your mom believes in you. I believe in you. And, you should fucking believe in yourself. Because you not being good enough is a load of bull _crap_ and I will _fight_ anyone who says differently.”

“But…” Lance tries.

“No buts,” snaps Pidge. “We’re done here. Now you can either play the next game, or you can watch.”

Hunk offers the controller again with a soft smile, but again, Lance pushes it away. With another encouraging smile, Hunk settles back to play another round.

And Lance…Lance feels a little bit better. He got a little of his grievances out—said some of the things he was thinking and acknowledged some of the fears that were eating away at him—but he can’t feel one-hundred percent better until he talks to Shiro. Whether Shiro will encourage him or eat him alive he doesn’t know for sure. But the suspense is _killing_ him. He can’t fucking take it.

Lance watches the next game disinterestedly. His mind is still running a mile a minute when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. Curious, despite his better judgment, he pulls it out.

When he looks down at his phone, he sees the last thing he was expecting to see. A message from Keith of all people.

**[Today 10:47 PM]**

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Usually, you’d be begging for a rematch by now. What gives?

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Aww…worried about me?

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** fuck you

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Just tired. I had an EXTRA show today with EXTRA responsibly, which I nailed of course, and I’m tired now. So not in the mood

And he isn’t. After ruining the whole show, he can’t take another defeat tonight. He just can’t. Competition is great, and competition with Keith is an absolute blast, but there’s only so much a beating Lance can take. His fragile self-esteem has been wounded enough for one day, thank you very much.

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Oh yeah, Shiro told me about that. He said you guys were great. So, congratulations, I guess

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Wait what?

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** He said that?

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Yeah…

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** How does he know? He wasn’t THERE

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** But Allura was, and she said you guys were great

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Allura saw it!?

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Yes…

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** What’s wrong?

And because Lance can’t possibly feel any worse about himself for the time being, he decides to come clean and deal with Keith’s teasing. The asshole will learn the truth soon enough anyways.

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** I bombed that show! It was horrible. You have no idea! None of those people will ever com back after that catastrophe

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** It can’t have been that bad

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** I was. Trust me.

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** I don’t have enough faith in your powers of sabotage to believe that

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** That…is literally the MOST backhanded unhelpful compliment I have EVER gotten from ANYONE. You have just dethroned Pidge. I hope you realize how hard that is.

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** nope

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Seriously tho, it’s probably all in you head. People are way too self-absorbed to care about your mistakes

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** OMG How are you so _bad_ at this?

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** At what?

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Nothing. You’re the worst. You know that?

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** I’m willing to trust Shiro and Allura on this. I bet you were great. You’re good at talking and shit, so yeah, I’m sure you covered your mistakes good.

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Because isn’t that the thing. You’re never going to do something perfect. That doesn’t happen. What makes something good or bad is: can you cover your mistakes and how long does it take other people to figure it out?

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** That’s how I do my paintings. They full of mistakes. And I see every last one of em. But if I can cover it up a little or do something in the background so you don’t notice, I still sell the painting to a satisfied customer. Because at the end of the day, it’s a good painting whether I like it or not.

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** same goes for your show

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** …wow…thanks Keith

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Maybe you’re not the _worst_ exactly

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Hmm…yeah that felt wrong. I have to say something terrible now to defend my reputation

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Please don’t. We were having like…13% of a moment there

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** 13% ????

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Well, then I will wish you 13% of a good night

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** And I will be generous and wish you 14% of a good night

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Such a gentleman

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** You know it ;)

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Good night Lance

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Night, man

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Have a whole 15% sweet dreams

Lance shoves his phone back in his pocket and lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. According to Keith, Shiro isn’t angry with him. He still needs to find out for himself, but he finds himself less afraid of facing it. Fingers crossed that Keith isn’t messing with him. Which is unlikely. Keith is an asshole, but Lance hasn’t seen any evidence that the guy is actually _cruel_.

“Where’d you put those lemon bars?” Lance asks as he pushes himself up off the couch.

“They’re in the orange Tupperware on top of the refrigerator,” says Hunk, eyes still glued to the TV.

“Great. Thanks, Hunk. Don’t expect there to be any left tomorrow morning.”

Hunk laughs. “Don’t worry about…holy shit! Pidge! _WHY?!_ ”

Pidge cackles. “Don’t mess with the king, motherfucker.”

Lance leaves them to it. He goes into the kitchen and polishes off Hunk’s lemon bars before mounting the ladder up to his room in the loft. He doesn’t have a door to his room, the loft doesn’t work that way, so he drags the changing screen across the exposed opening to give himself a little privacy. He jumps into bed, careful not to hit is head on the low slanted ceiling, and flops back against the pillows.

Unexpectedly, his phone vibrates again.

**[Today, 11:27 PM]**

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Ps. Shiro’s Jeep is going into the shop tomorrow morning. I’m picking him and Allura up at work. Say hi, if you’re around

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Well, now I that I have fair warning, I know to run away from your mullet

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** JK **.** See you tomorrow

* * *

Keith is a hot mess. Literally.

He’s covered in paint and sand from the top of his head to his sneakers. His hair is a mess of paint smeared clips and pins from the dollar store and there’s a Snoopy band aid on his forehead where he tripped and smacked himself in the face with his easel. Which might be an aesthetic— _maybe_ —if he wasn’t also wearing Peggy’s old jeans with holes in the knees and a dirty pink bandana sticking out of his pocket. Usually, he doesn’t take much notice of his appearance, but man, even Keith has to admit this outfit is something else.

Oh well. Nothing he can do about it now. According to the clock in his car, he’s already late to pick up Shiro and Allura. And since his phone died an hour ago, he doesn’t have a way to let them know where he is. Oops.

So, in typical Keith fashion, he drives too fast and ignores a few too many traffic signs. And if he makes telepathic… _suggestions_ …to the cops not to give him a ticket, well at least he has a good reason for it. This time. Keith whips his car past the aquarium parking lot into the narrow driveway on the other side of the building; into the same employee lot Shiro had taken him a little more than a week ago. He parks crookedly in Shiro’s space and calls it good. Actually, he parked little better than douchebag, but he’s in a hurry. He’s also a douchebag sometimes, but for once that has nothing to do with it.

He steps out onto the pavement and pushes Peggy’s rose-tinted sunglasses up on his head as he scans the parking lot for a place to break in. There’s a gate on the far side with a sign that says, ‘Do Not Enter: Employees Only.’ Well that seems about right.

Keith jumps the fence. He presses two fingers to his temple and casts his senses out like a dragnet hoping to pinpoint Shiro’s location. His brother’s presence lights up in his mind like a beacon, and Keith fallows it straight to the ‘Dolphin HQ’, the little hut at the back of the outdoor exhibit park where Lance had taken him on his lunch break.

When Keith opens the door, he narrowly misses getting a face full of volleyball. Fortunately for his pride, he catches the incoming projectile; the surprised expression on his face limited to the lift of one eyebrow. “The assassin tryouts are next week,” he deadpans.

“Keith!” squeaks Lance, “what are you doing here?”

Keith represses a smile as he steps the rest of the way into the hut and lets the door fall shut behind him. “I’m here to pick up my annoying older brother.”

“But how? You’re not supposed to be here,” Lance insists.

“This again?”

“How did you get back here?”

“Uh…I just looked for a sign that says, ‘Do Not Enter,’ and walked in.”

“What? Where?”

“I dunno, someplace with a big-ass gate.”

“Keith, that’s trespassing.” But in spite of himself, Lance looks slightly impressed, so Keith doesn’t see the need to take it that seriously. In fact, it’s kind of satisfying in a way. Lance’s ‘I’m-begrudgingly-impressed-with-you’ face is priceless.

But, moving on before his mouth catches up with his brain. “You haven’t seen Shiro by any chance, have you?” Keith asks, tossing the ball back to the gangly dark-haired boy before him.

“I’m in my office,” Shiro calls from around the corner.

“Sorry I’m late,” Keith says walking past Lance into his brother’s office.

“You’re good,” says Shiro, “but, didn’t you get my message?”

Shiro is sitting behind his cluttered desk glaring at his computer, a Styrofoam cup of cheap coffee at his elbow. Allura it there too; perched on a creaky spinny chair, legs stretched out in front of her, laptop open across her knees. Pidge is sitting on the filing cabinet, already in streetwear, looking board. Hunk stands by the wall, arms folded over his chest, but there’s a gentle smile on his broad face. Belatedly, Keith realizes they’re all staring at him.

A little frown pulls at the edges of his lips. Keith doesn’t really like being the center of attention. But he walked into this one. Literally.

“What message?” he asks. Turning the frown of discomforture into one of irritated confusion comes easily. Looking annoyed is social armor after all; Keith has found that nobody wants to mess with him when under the impression he will murder them for the slightest inconvenience.

Shiro falls for it gracefully. “Uh…the one that said I have a lot of work to catch up on and I’m going to have to stay late today.”

Keith’s eyes narrow. “How late?”

“I’ll be here another couple hours,” says Shiro apologetically, “though, to be fair, I did let you know before you drove all the way out here.”

“My phone died,” Keith says flatly. Which is technically his fault, not Shiro’s, but that doesn’t mean he’s thrilled about the situation.

Unfortunately, Lance seems to have picked up on an opportunity to insert himself into the conversation. “Dude, again? I’ve known you for a week and a half and that’s twice your phone has died on you. Don’t you charge it?”

“Yeah,” says Keith turning to Lance, “my battery just sucks.”

“Dude, that’s no excuse,” Lance declares semi-dramatically.

Keith wonders just how he could have forgotten the extent of Lance’s dramatics. It makes him want to smile. Almost. He doesn’t.

“You can get a battery pack and just keep it in your purse,” Pidge suggests.

Keith gives her a devilish smirk. “You wanna help me pick one out Tater-tot? I’ll even let you ride the carousel at the mall.” Because even though he’s wearing Peggy’s old jeans and a paint smeared milkshake tee-shirt, he is still an asshole on the inside. No amount of pastel graphics can cover for the character that is Keith Kogane.

Pidge barks out a sharp, surprisingly deep sounding, laugh. “I like him.”

“Me too,” says Allura, “he let me blast ‘English Beat’ at Shiro on the drive here.”

“It was my pleasure,” says Keith, “I have finally found another fan.”

Shiro groans and sinks back in his chair. “They conspired against me.”

“Is that more of your 80’s music?” Lance asks.

“Yup,” Keith and Allura chorus.

“Vibe,” says Pidge.

“Ya know what, Pidge…” Shiro sits up again with renewed vigor, “everyone out of my office, I have a lot of work to do if I ever want to leave today.”

Now Lance is groaning, “but Shiro…we still haven’t found a fourth person for volleyball.”

“Still not my problem,” Shiro says unapologetically, probably used to Lance and his theatrics.

“We just need one person, Shiro, one! You can’t let one person off early?” Lance whines.

“Nope.”

“Allura? You can leave whenever you want…”

“I already told you, I have to finish the inventory.”

Lance lets out a dramatic wail. “But it’s a _thing._ Beach volleyball every odd Tuesday.”

Keith laughs shortly at Lance’s dramatics. “Really?”

“Take Keith,” Shiro suggests suddenly.

“What! Why me?” Keith demands. He can’t be sure his voice didn’t just crack. How embarrassing.

And Shiro gives him a look; all knowing, and far too satisfied with himself. “Because you’re available. And you’ll need something to do with yourself while you wait for me to finish up here.”

“But I don’t know _how_ to play volleyball,” Keith points out.

“That’s fine,” Pidge pipes in, “neither did the hoe who used to play with us.”

“Pidge, don’t call your coworker a hoe. We’ve been over this,” says Shiro. He sounds as pained as would any parent exasperated with a trouble prone child. Keith gets the impression that they’ve had this conversation a million times already.

Not that Pidge seems to care much. She just roles her eyes at Shiro. “Fine. That _bimbo_ who used to play with us,” she amends.

“That’s it. Out of my office, all of you,” Shiro says flatly.

“But…” Keith starts.

“No buts. Out.” Shiro points at the door.

“Go outside and play kids, Dolphin Dad has work to do,” Allura cuts in.

“Allura!” Shiro squeals indignantly at the same time as which Pidge snarks, “yes _mom_.”

They all head out after that, leaving Allura and Shiro to do whatever it is they do. They take the path back to the parking lot. And this time, Keith doesn’t have to jump the gate. Hunk swipes his keycard through the reader, and the gate swings open automatically. Fancy.

At some point, Keith breaks left from the animated group and heads for his car. He can’t imagine they actually _want_ him to play volleyball with them. Not when Shiro practically tried to drop him in their laps. Were he in their place, Keith would be resentful of an interloper. He won’t force himself on them.

Besides—and this might be the real reason Keith tries to run away—he doesn’t need to humiliate himself by trying to play a land game that will end in him eating sand. There’s a reason he tripped and faceplanted into his easel earlier: Keith Kogane is a klutz. Shiro says his personal theme song should be, ‘Another One Bites the Dust.’ Because Keith has sea legs on land. Pun intended. He can walk sure, and he can run, but anything more complicated than that and Keith has the coordination of a newborn deer.

Permanent sea legs are _not_ one of the perks of being a mermaid.

So volleyball? Forget it. Keith has already aggressively hugged Mother Earth once today. He’s not looking for a reunion anytime soon.

“Hey where are you going?” Pidge calls.

Keith turns back to her. “I dunno. Ziforge Canvas probably.”

“What? I thought you were gonna play volleyball with us,” Lance says. He sounds confused. Like he had thought Keith coming along was a done deal. Maybe even a little disappointed.

“I…” Keith doesn’t actually have an answer. Or even a smartass quip at the ready. Because he wasn’t _prepared_ for that.

They _want_ him to come? _Lance_ wants him to come? Keith squashes the little flutter of…hope, of something, that rises up inside him. That _something_ unfamiliarly nice that he doesn’t know what to do with. And since Keith wasn’t prepared for it, it puts him on the defensive. Makes him fold his arms over his chest and scrutinize the faces in front of him for any sign that they’re putting him on. He could just tap into his powers and listen in on their thoughts, but that’s an invasion of privacy. So glaring at them, however rude, seems like the better option.

He watches Hunk pause mid step into the passenger seat of a 2002 thunderbird convertible, eyes expectant. He watches Pidge lean into her hip twirling the car keys around her index finger. And he watches Lance take a couple steps toward him as he jumps the volleyball between his hands.

“What? Are you afraid I’ll kick your ass?” Lance taunts.

Taunting, Keith can deal with. He narrows his eyes and glares directly at Lance. “No. But you didn’t…”

“Na, na, na,” Lance can talk really fast when he wants to, “all I’m hearing is, ‘I’m a chicken, I’m a chicken, I’m a chicken.”

“What? When did I say that?”

“Just admit it. You’re _scared._ ” Lance leans forward at the waist, watching him with a challenging smirk on his face. And Keith falls for it, because he’s an idiot who can’t resists a challenge or a pair of pretty eyes.

“I’m not scared.”

“Lance leave him alone,” Hunk says loudly from the other side of the parking lot. Then adds, “Keith, we’d love it if you could come, but don’t feel pressured or anything.”

“Oh feel pressured,” Pidge pipes in, “we need even teams.”

“Whad’ya say, Mullet?” ask Lance waggling an eyebrow at him. “You commin’ with?”

Keith stares at him silently. A battle of wills he already planned to lose. He grits his teeth. “ _Fine_.”

Lance cheers. “Alright! We got our teams, now let’s hit the road baby!” He starts heading back to the T-bird but pauses when Keith makes no move to follow him. “Hey, Mullet, let’s go.”

“I’ll follow you. I need my car if I’m going to pick up Shiro later.”

“OK, fair,” says Pidge, “we’re going to Altea Beach. You know how to get there?”

“Yep.”

“I’m going with Keith,” Lance says, surprising him, “two and two. That way nobody get’s left alone.” He starts walking back towards Keith and the Corolla, then stops. “That is, if it’s OK with you.”

Wow, Lance is good at throwing him for a loop. Keith prides himself on being hard to surprise. On being hard to throw off his groove. He’s too cool for shit like that. But Lance it would seem has the talent. Not that he’ll let it show of course. Nope. Smooth as ever, Keith shrugs and gestures to the passenger side door. “Hop in.”

And Lance doesn’t need to be told twice. He settles himself on the cracked leather seat with the volleyball in his lap and rests his arm on the windowsill. He sticks his head out the window as Keith jogs around the back of the car to hop in the driver’s seat.

“Race you,” Lance calls to Pidge, “first one to the parking lot wins. Starting now.”

“What?” Keith asks.

But Hunk unknowingly interrupts. “Please no.”

“Challenge accepted,” Pidge shouts over him, “get ready to choke on rubber, Loverboy.”

Keith turns to Lance with a quirked eyebrow as he starts the car. “ _Loverboy?_ ”

“Tell you later. Right now, floor it, baby.”

To distract himself from the idiot in his passenger seat, Keith shifts into reverse and shoots backwards out of the parking space. He hears Lance make a squeak of surprise as his hands hit the dashboard to brace himself.

“You might want to buckle up,” Keith warns.

He hears the click of the seatbelt. “You’re not a psycho driver are you?”

Keith just gives Lance one of his best roguish smirks. “Like I said, buckle up.”

Because Keith does in fact drive like a psycho. He backs up to the end of the parking lot before jerking the wheel and turning the car sharply around to face front. Pidge is right behind him, but not for long. Keith shifts into second gear, then floors it to make a left across two lanes of traffic behind a green sedan.

The sudden move jerks the auxiliary cable into place and The Ramones’ ‘Blitzkrieg Bop’ starts up mid song from the iPod clattering around in the cupholder. Lance is laughing. Whether it’s at his driving or his music choices Keith doesn’t know. Neither does he care. All he knows is that he has a new friend, a hot car that smells like turpentine and gasoline, and a bright summer day he won’t be spending alone.

Being the competitive idiot that he is, Keith checks the rearview mirror for Pidge, who like him, seems to be a crazy driver. She’s catching up and he thinks he can just make out her devilish grin as she chases them down. Beside him, Lance has turned around in his seat to make faces at his friends behind them. Though Keith can’t see those faces, he’s pretty sure they’re ridiculous and embarrassing in a way only Lance can pull off.

The light ahead of them turns yellow, and the person in front of them starts slowing down to stop. Not that Keith is going to take that. He checks the rearview again. The lane beside him is open except for Pidge who is poised to blow past them if he slows down. He breaks suddenly and whips the car into the other lane ahead of Pidge, who despite everything, knows not to speed too much. Keith doesn’t know that. He’s easily going ten over when he runs the light just as it turns red. He looks back. Pidge is stopped at the light, two middle fingers extended in the air.

“You psycho!” Lance laughs.

Keith keeps his eyes glued to the road and his tone flat. “Yep.”

The rest of the way, the bright yellow T-bird pops in and out of sight behind them, but Keith has a pretty good head start. He pulls into the beach parking lot quickly and brings the car to a halt. But despite their easy win, Lance is in motion before he can even shut off the engine.

“Get out, get out, get out,” says Lance frantically unbuckling his seatbelt and tearing open his door.

Keith just looks at him in confusion, “uh why?”

“Because…” Lance says poking his head back into the car and reaching over to unclip Keith’s seatbelt for him, “we have to make it look like we’ve been waiting for them for a long time.”

“What?” Keith is still confused. But he opens the door and shoves the keys in his pocket. “But we already won, what’s the big deal?”

Lance ignores his question. “OK, try to look casual.”

“I’m casu…”

“Maybe sit on the hood or something.”

“Lance…”

“Keith, _come_ _on,_ they’ll be pulling in any second!”

“What are you; _nine_?”

“Yes, if that’s what it takes for you to cooperate, then I am nine.”

Keith roles his eyes. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” But he jumps up on the roof of his car because he’s willing to grant Lance a little grace. Willing to go along with his nonsense _to a point_. His reward? A quick smile on a pair of wide lips. Lance jogs around the back of the car to lean himself against the door beside Keith’s legs.

“This better?” Keith asks flatly.

Lance tosses the volleyball in the air. “Yep. Now we just… _oh my god,_ that’s them! They’re pulling in! OK, quick, make it look like you’re talking to me about something.”

“I _have_ been talking to you,” Keith deadpans.

“OK, but like an _actual_ conversation.”

Keith stares at him flatly.

“About anything. Ask me if I like cheese.”

“Cheese?”

“Fine, I’ll come up with something!”

Lance looks around frantically for something or other—Keith isn’t really sure what’s going on—but Lance’s insistence on putting on a show for the benefit of Hunk and Pidge is hilarious. It’s so strange in all its ridiculousness that Keith finds himself drawn in despite himself. But his thoughts are interrupted by Lance who appears to have finally found a table topic.

“What’s the deal with the window paint?” Lance asks pointing.

Keith follows Lance’s finger with his eyes to the words, ‘My X is a Hoe’ with a phone number underneath—the last two digits of which have been smudged out by Shiro’s thumb—painted haphazardly on the back windshield of Keith’s car. The words are starting to fade, and some of it is dripping and washed out. It’s been there so long, almost 10 months give or take, that he doesn’t even notice it anymore. Even when he backs up, he sees straight through it like it never mattered.

He shrugs. “What do you think?”

Lance gives him a searching look. Probably doesn’t want to step on any toes here. But Keith doesn’t know him well enough to know if that is out of character or not. “Bad break-up I’m guessing?”

“Sure.” Keith shrugs. “But I got the better end of the deal. He was a two-timing, manipulative, overbearing dick-wad.”

Lance says nothing for a moment. He just looks up at Keith with perhaps a little awe and amazement and something else. Keith can see him analyzing every word of what he just said. Eventually, his eyes clear a little as though he’s just slotted another piece of some cosmic puzzle into place. Lance isn’t judgmental. Not even really surprised. But Keith still feels a little…anxious. He isn’t used to having anyone’s undivided attention like this and he isn’t used to feeling self-conscious.

“What?” he demands. He tries for slightly imperious. It falls flat and comes out way more insecure than he wants.

But Lance only grins at him. “Dude, I figured we had something of kindred spirits in us.”

 _Well that’s not what Keith was expecting_. “Come again?”

“I mean, we’re both competitive as fuck, we’re both assholes, and we’re both gay. Well, I’m bi but ya know, same difference.”

And this time Keith genuinely smiles. But then, he isn’t about to have a real conversation, isn’t ready to emotion right now. So he pulls a Keith. Turns the smile into a smirk and makes some deadass comment. “That’s your character profile for me? A competitive, gay, asshole?”

“Shut up,” says Lance teasingly.” We were having a moment, and you ruined it. _Again_.”

Keith smirks. “It was 13 percent of a moment.”

“Right,” Lance laughs, “13 percent.”

Hunk and Pidge walk over to them from round the other side of the car. Lance gives them a lazy smile and stretches one arm over his head. “Hey guys, what kept you? We’ve been waiting here for ages.”

Pidge glares at him. “That’s because Keith drives like the devil.”

“Pot meet kettle,” says Hunk gesturing between them.

“Uh-huh,” says Pidge.

Hunk shrugs. “All I’m saying is that your driving makes me motion sick.”

Pidge rolls her eyes. “Everything makes you motion sick, Hunk.”

“Yeah, but especially _your driving_ ,” Hunk retorts. “Lance, help me out here buddy.”

“Ya know, I would,” Lance drawls, “but then I rode shotgun with Mullet, and I’d have to say, his driving makes Pidge seem pretty tame.” Keith opens his mouth to object—his driving isn’t _that_ crazy—but Lance holds up a hand to forestall his rising comment. “Though, Pidge is surprisingly the ruder of the two. Keith didn’t flip nearly as many people off.”

Keith’s eyebrows head for his hairline as he turns his full attention to Pidge. “You flip people off? In Florida? Dude, you’re just asking to get shot!”

Pidge shrugs. “I’m from Boston. Old habits die hard.”

“Pidge is a Mass-hole,” Lance says as if that explains everything. It doesn’t. Keith has never been to Massachusetts.

“So are we going to play volleyball or not?” Hunk asks taking the ball out of Lance’s hands and spinning it on his index finger.

“Hell yeah we are,” Lance cheers. “Get ready for total spankage take six, Mullet.”

Keith just roles his eyes as he follows them down to the beach towards a preset volleyball net up on the dry crumbly sand. Hunk kicks off his sneakers and Keith follows his lead. Pidge pulls out little water bottles from her backpack. They’re already getting warm, water turning to steam and fogging up the inside of the flimsy plastic. She hands one out to everyone. And Keith can already tell this is going to be a bit of a workout. The sun is mercilessly hot. The only saving grace is the strong but intermittent breeze coming in off the water.

“So how do we wanna split up?” Lance asks, “drivers vs. shotgun?”

“That’s not fair. You and Hunk both played in college and Keith and I didn’t,” Pidge points out.

“Aww, my man,” Lance pretends to wail, “they want to split us up.” He wraps both arms and one leg around Hunk like an orangutan. And Hunk just takes it in stride; working one of his arms free to pat Lance on the top of the head.

Pidge snorts. “And then there’s this, do you really want the devil and his sidekick to team up?”

“Shit, you right,” says Lance, “we need to split up the destructive duo.”

Keith folds his arms over his chest. “I’m not destructive.”

“Keith, quiet,” Pidge hisses, “I’m working the system.”

Keith rolls his eyes and Lance laughs. “OK, but Keith and I are rivals so we have to split up.”

In the end, the only way to split up the teams evenly is to pair Lance with Pidge and Hunk with Keith. And since they don’t have full teams, they decide to play first team to thirty points. The first two rounds are just practice to give Keith a chance to get a feel for the game.

Hunk has the first serve when they start for real. Keith watches his technique intently as his arm pulls back and hits the ball with a mighty blow. It goes up and soars over the net like a circus seagull only to get pounced right back at them by Lance. Keith—who is determined that Lance isn’t going to beat him—goes for it. He trips over himself of course, fucking mermaid legs, and lands belly first in the sand. Lance laughs. They all do. Even Hunk. And Keith can feel his face turning red. But he picks himself up, all the more determined for it.

It doesn’t take long for them to establish that Keith _can’t_ play volleyball. He sucks at it. But at some point, rivalry with Lance be damned, he loosens up and manages to just have some fun. He trips. A lot. But that doesn’t stop Hunk from letting him try to pull his weight. Keith respects him for that. If their positions had been reversed, he’d have a hard time giving up control. But to Hunk, it’s all about the game. It isn’t about winning. Which means Keith gets to serve every now and then, and divebomb the ball whenever he feels like.

He isn’t sure when it happened, but he finds himself laughing with them. After the fifth time he tripped himself, Lance started keeping track of how many times he fell over. At first it bothered him. But the more he watches Lance’s face, really watches, the more OK with it he becomes. It’s like…a running gag.

Because Lance isn’t’ laughing out of malice. He’s laughing because he finds it truly amusing. Keith can see it in the way he throws his head back, in the way he tears up just a little, in the way he wraps his arms around his stomach as his knees hit the sand. He sees it in the little smiles Lance throws him when he counts up after another one of Keith’s disastrous arguments with gravity. Lance is just a very genuine person Keith thinks.

And he loves Lance’s laugh. It’s so full and sunny. And the mirth that consumes his face is all encompassing in a way Keith can only wish he understood.

So he doesn’t mind being the butt of the joke. Not when Lance is the one laughing at it.

And he doesn’t mind Hunk and Pidge laughing at him either. They’re both good people. On the one hand, Pidge is a little rough around the edges, but at least Keith knows where he stands with her. And Keith appreciates that. He isn’t good at reading people in general—not without listening in on their private thoughts telepathically—so he likes it when people give him a break and make it easy on him. And then on the other, there’s Hunk. The big guy laughs along with the rest of them, but he’s always there with a hand to help pull Keith back on his feet or offer constructive criticism on his volleyball technique.

In the end, Keith and Hunk loose 30:17.

And just in time too. Because Keith isn’t sure he can keep going. As fun as the game has been, Keith is overheating and unlike humans, he can’t sweat it out. His body has no internal cooling system. He was built to live primarily in the cool waters of the vast ocean, and as such, his body wants to keep him warm. Additionally, his amphibious biology means that he retains water in order to survive on land. So playing out in the sun really isn’t easy for him.

His vision is going splotchy. Patches of green, purple, and black dance over his eyes and his head starts to feel like someone is pressing it flat between two slabs of concrete.

“Man I’m beat,” says Hunk sitting himself down on the sand. He rubs an arm over his sweaty forehead, “you guys clobbered us.”

“Hell yeah we did,” says Pidge giving Lance a high-five.

“We’ll get you next time,” says Hunk, “won’t we Keith?”

Keith takes that as an invitation to flop on the sand beside Hunk. He lays down and covers his eyes with his forearm so he doesn’t have to see Lance’s triumphant smirk. “Next time,” he says, “next time.”

“Aww Mullet,” Lance drawls, “you’re gonna come back after a defeat like that?”

Keith flips him off without uncovering his eyes or sitting up. “Fuck you.”

Lance and Pidge laugh.

“What time is it?” Hunk asks, “Keith still needs to pick up Shiro and Allura.”

“Almost seven thirty,” says Pidge.

Keith hears Hunk sit up beside him. “So we’ve got some time. I don’t know about you guys, but I could use some ice-cream,” he says.

“Yes _please_ ,” says Pidge.

Keith resists the urge to groan. He isn’t ready to get up yet. Or perhaps more accurately, he isn’t sure he _can_ get up yet. He feels dried out and fried and it’s really uncomfortable; but his arms and legs feel like lead and he isn’t sure he can.

Beside him, Hunk tries to stand up but ends up falling back in the sand. “Man am I outta shape,” he grumbles.

“You good buddy?” Lance asks.

“Yeah, yeah,” says Hunk, “gimme a hand.”

Grunting and shifting sand indicates to Keith that Lance has pulled Hunk to his feet. That means he probably has to get up. He opens his eyes, squinting into the bright sky. Hunk’s face suddenly fills his field of vison, one hand extended down towards him.

“Need a hand there?” Hunk asks.

This time, Keith does groan. Because now he has to get up. He takes Hunk’s hand and allows himself to be pulled upward. Hunk is strong. Almost too strong. Keith feels himself get pulled up so quickly that his head spins and he practically faceplants into Hunk’s broad chest.

“Woah Keith, you OK man?” Hunk asks, both hands now on Keith’s shoulders.

“M’fine,” Keith says shaking himself free, “just stood up too fast.”

A hand lands on his forehead before pulling away. “Dude, how are you so hot? You didn’t even break a sweat,” says Lance.

Keith tries not to roll his eyes. “That’s because I can’t.”

“ _Can’t?_ What do you mean you can’t?” Pidge demands, eyes both confused and suspicious. _Oops. Let that slip out_. Keith imagines that if a microscope were ever to come to life, it would look at him the way Pidge is looking at him right now. Ordinarily, that would put Keith on the defensive, but with his heat oppressed brain, he finds it amusing. So naturally he decides to mess with her by giving her the vague version of the truth.

“Biology,” says Keith, “I’m a scientific myth.”

Pidge snorts at that.

“You need to cool off ma dude,” says Lance, “go take a dip in the ocean.”

Keith gives him a flat look. “In my jeans? Yeah, not happening.”

Lance ignores him. “Don’t make me throw you in myself.”

 _That_ makes Keith want to laugh. “I don’t think you could even if you tried,” Keith says flatly, folding his arms over his chest.

“Oh you think that, do you?” Lance says taking a step closer.

Keith meets his challenging eyes with matched stupidity. “I have two words for you; noodle arms.”

Pidge barks out a sharp laugh at that. “Oh man, that was a cheap shot but so _true._ ”

“What?” Lance squeals, “I do _not_ have noodle arms!”

“Could have fooled me,” Keith teases.

“You kinda do buddy,” Hunk adds helpfully.

“What?” Lance squeaks again, “I _will_ throw you in the water for that.”

Keith knows he should stop now, before the oppressive heat isn’t the only thing he has to worry about. But he isn’t that wise. And he doesn’t back down. “No you won’t.”

“That’s it!”

Lance bends down, throws his shoulder forward into Keith’s waist, and throws him over his shoulder. Keith tries not to squeak but it slips out anyway. And Lance seems to think that’s hilarious for some reason.

“To the water!” Lance declares.

And now Keith has a very real problem. Because despite all the teasing and goading, he hadn’t expected Lance to _actually do it_. Looking back, that seems a stupid thing to think. Lance is just as stupid as he is. But you know what they say, hindsight is 20/20. Now Keith finds himself lying belly first on Lance’s surprisingly strong—and unsurprisingly sweaty—shoulders, trying his best _not_ to think. About _anything_.

“Put me down, Lance,” he demands to distract himself more than anything, “your shoulders are bony.”

“Oh, I’ll put you down hotshot,” Lance promises with dark amusement. Keith can just imagine the twinkle in his eye, the little _devil._

Lance tosses Keith backwards off his shoulders. The little yelp of surprise the guy makes is both hilarious and kind of adorable. Almost as adorable as the fact that he’s a total klutz. Who knew. Not Lance, that’s for sure. He’s only had one volleyball game to get his head around two facts: one, Keith likes guys, and two, Keith is actually an adorable asshole rather than just a regular asshole. The first time Keith laughed as far as he has known him, may have just put a nail in a Lance sized coffin.

Things were always complicated wherever Keith was concerned. And now they’re even _more_ complicated, for a few too many reasons for Lance to process right now.

For starters, he hadn’t really thought through all the minor complications that would go along with throwing Keith over his shoulder and dropping him in the water. It had started off as an innocent threat. Because the guy really looked like he was going to faint on them, and Lance couldn’t think of a better way to get Keith taken care of. He isn’t a doctor after all. But as usual, things had gotten out of control and now he has an armful of rival and a brain full of Keith.

But Lance is determined to block those thoughts from his mind in favor of focusing on the ones that are far less complicate. First, he squashed Keith at volleyball. Not that there was ever any doubt, but it’s a good feeling all the same. Especially considering how awful he felt just last night. Secondly, he has now proven that his ‘noodle arms’ are not to be mocked. His arms are, in fact, a force to be reckoned with.

“You idiot!” Keith shouts turning to face him as Lance pulls his floundering ass back up out of the waves.

Lance just laughs, “told you I could do it.”

“Ah!” Keith lets out a frustrated growl before suddenly tackling him. He throws his arms around Lance’s waist and knocks them both backwards into the water.

Lance laughs as he pushes himself back up onto his feet despite Keith’s iron grip on his waist. “Well at least someone seems to be feeling better.”

“Fuck you,” says Keith. And they go down again.

Predictably, the whole thing turns into a wrestling match. It doesn’t take Lance too long to realize that he’s fighting both Keith and the waves and he seems to be losing. But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t mind getting tossed around in the water or finding himself in another one of Keith’s crazy strong holds. He doesn’t mind it because he’s just having fun. Win or lose, rivals or not, Lance has lost sight of the competition because all he cares about right now is laughing like a maniac with his new friend.

“Guys, break it up,” Hunk shouts eventually, “Keith has to start heading back to pick up Shiro and Allura.”

Keith looks at him with confused eyes. Lance finds himself almost able to hear the thought behind that look; _have we really been at it that long?_ It’s a fair question.

“We’re on our way,” Lance shouts back to Hunk, then turns to Keith and adds, “race you to the car.”

There’s no need for verbal conformation. Lance knows Keith doesn’t need a reason to race him; the challenge alone is enough. They both start running and Lance quickly gains the upper hand. Keith’s shorter legs and waterlogged jeans make it impossible for him to keep up with a gazelle like Lance. But that doesn’t stop the little idiot from trying. So they run. Past Hunk and Pidge, over the hard wet sand, up onto the dry crumbly sand, and onto the hot asphalt of the parking lot. Lance gets to the car first and slams his hands on the hood before turning back around to catch Keith who trips over the buffer.

“I win,” Lance says.

“Whatever,” Keith grouses.

Lance watches as Keith pulls a set of dripping wet car keys out the back pocket of his jeans and walks round to manually unlock the trunk of his car. He tries not to watch as Keith crawls halfway into the trunk and starts digging through the piles of art supplies, paintings, and…shit. He can’t look because in those wet jeans, Keith’s butt looks just like it had that first day on the beach when Lance had mistaken him for a girl.

“Ah ha,” says Keith finally stepping back out of the trunk, “can’t promise they’re clean but at least they’re dry.” Keith hands him a pair of blue sweatpants with a white stripe down the leg, covered in paint, and a graphic tank-top that says ‘Undercover Mermaid’ across the chest.

Lance holds them up, unsure what to make of the situation. “Uh thanks,” he says, a little annoyed with himself for sounding small and awkward.

But in typical Keith fashion, the other either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. Instead, he reaches back into the car and pulls out a little plastic Calvin Kline bag and hands Lance a new pair of briefs. “These are brand new,” he says as he grabs a paint smeared bed sheet off the top of one of his paintings and tears it in half. “You can change in the back seat if you want.”

“Uhh…” Lance isn’t sure what to do here but fortunately Pidge shows up to save him the dilemma.

“Just do it, Lance,” she says, “we don’t need your wet ass soaking up the car seats.

And…the woman has a point. Lance takes the clothes and the makeshift towel into the back seat of Keith’s car and changes. The cracked leather seats are hot and there isn’t much room, but Lance is determined to be quick about getting changed. The saltwater makes his skin sticky and he has a hard time pulling off his swim trunks without being able to stand. But he makes it work in the end, even though Keith’s clothes are a little smaller. The tank-top hugs his chest firmly and the sweatpants don’t quite reach the tops of his feet.

Truth be told, he feels a little self-conscious wearing Keith’s clothes like this. After all, they haven’t known each other that long. Certainly not as long as he’s known Hunk and Pidge. But since he seems to be the only one who cares, he lets it go, and puts on one of his brightest smiles when he steps out of the car.

“Am I hot or am I hot?” Lance asks, striking a pose to model Keith’s shirt.

Pidge snorts, “there’s not a third option?”

“Rude!” Lance squeaks.

“I think you’re hot,” Hunk says walking up with the pile of shoes and shit he and Keith had left over by the volleyball net.

Lance gives his friend an appreciative grin. “Hunk, this is why you are my favorite.”

Pidge elbows Hunk. “Quit feeding his ego.”

Keith rolls his eyes at them and jumps into the newly vacated back seat, presumably to change. When he steps out again, his hair is down and free of hairclips, falling over his face. And he’s wearing a military boot-camp tee-shirt that just has to be Shiro’s because there’s probably room for both of them in there.

Keith probably notices Lance is staring because he glares up at him from under his bangs. “Don’t say a word.”

Lance holds his hands up defensively. “I wasn’t going to.”

“Where are your pants, _Trip?_ ” Pidge smirks.

Keith gives her the stink-eye at the nick name but lifts the hem of his shirt to reveal a pair of red and white pajama shorts. “Guess I’d better get going,” says Keith, “thanks for letting me mess up your volleyball game.”

“Any time, man,” says Hunk, “and you have to come back so we can _squash_ those two.”

“In your dreams, guys,” says Pidge, “now go get your brother and his girlfriend.”

Keith laughs. “So you see it too, huh?”

“Could they be any more obvious?” Pidge snorts.

“Good point. Alright, I’m out.” Keith slides into the driver’s seat of the Corolla and starts up the engine. Hunk and Pidge take a few steps back to give him space to back up. Lance however, doesn’t move. Awkwardness aside, he isn’t ready to let Keith go just yet. Not when there’s a high probability he won’t see him again for another week or more.

“Hey, can I come with?” he blurts out before his better judgement can kick in.

Keith looks up at him with surprise, but his cool demeanor comes back in an instant. “Yeah, I guess,” he jerks his head in the direction of the passenger seat, “hop in.”

And Lance doesn’t need to be told twice. He waves to Hunk and Pidge and jumps into the car. Never mind that he doesn’t have a plan to actually get back to his house from Shiro and Allura’s. Never mind that Shiro and Allura didn’t invite him to their place in the first place. Never mind that Keith has probably had enough of his company for one day. Lance has just been having fun, and he isn’t ready for it to end just yet.

Keith’s old 80’s playlist starts up again from the iPod nano in the cupholder as they pull out. And this time, his driving isn’t quite as insane. He still speeds, but he doesn’t cut anyone off for a change. They start off by making small talk about music, and about college and shit, and at some point Lance feels comfortable enough to ask the question that’s been bothering him since the day they met.

“So what’s your deal with the aquarium anyways?” he asks. “Shiro told us not to bring it up with you, but curiosity is a bitch, ya know?”

Keith keeps his eyes front as he nods curtly. For one terrifyingly awkward moment, Lance thinks he isn’t going to answer. But then he does. Saving Lance the embarrassment of apologizing for asking a stupid question.

“It just hurts me to see the bigger marine animals in those little pools. They don’t belong there,” says Keith with surprising gravity and conviction.

“What are your reasons, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Keith sighs. “You’ve probably heard them all before.”

“Tell me anyways.”

“Fine. First, cetaceans are families. They live in pods. You can’t force them to live together and get along with each other. If you force them to try to make a new pod, they attack each other. Sometimes, some of them get hurt. Second, there isn’t enough room for them to swim. They can swim for hundreds of miles in a day, but in the pools, there just isn’t room. I’m sure you’ve seen them banging their heads against the walls or trying to beach themselves on the decks. And third, they eat live fish not dead ones. You have to train them to eat dead fish. Which brings me to my last point: operant conditioning and positive reinforcement. You know what I mean.”

Lance winces. Keith is as passionate as he is about this crap. He didn’t think that was possible. And what’s more, his reasons are actually really _good_. Thought out. True. They’re things that Lance sometimes struggles with himself. And that kind of stings.

“But as you say, they can’t form new pods. If we let the dolphins go, they’ll be all alone to fend for themselves. And those sorts of things have failed spectacularly before. And besides, a lot of the animals we have were too sick or too hurt to leave in the wild. The others were born in captivity. We have to keep them. It’s our responsibility. And no they don’t have a lot of space, but at least the pools are _clean_. The water here is so polluted that they’d end up like the ones we have to rescue anyways,” Lance points out.

“I’m not saying you don’t have a point,” says Keith surprisingly more diplomatic and reasonable than Lance expects, considering his ideals are somewhat activist, “but it’s a system I’d like to see phased out eventually. Aquariums would lose a lot of money, and there goes a whole job market, but it isn’t something we should keep perpetuating. I’m not saying trainers are mean to the animals or that you and Shiro and Allura don’t _genuinely care_. But the _system_ is cruel. And it’s a little painful to see.”

Lance swallows. They’re on opposite sides of the same coin. They both care deeply about the animals. Neither one wholly right. Neither one wholly wrong. Or if there is a black and white solution, Lance can’t fucking see it. Because Red would be dead without their help. And so would a few of their other dolphins.

Ordinarily, Lance would jump all in and defend the aquarium, because ordinarily people like Keith put him on the defensive. But right now, his head is a little more clear. He isn’t sure _why_ he has to make Keith see through his eyes—maybe it’s because he wants Keith’s respect more than he cares to admit to himself—but for some reason, he doesn’t want them to be on opposite sides on this. Keith is his rival. But Keith would also make a valuable ally.

As they pull into the aquarium parking lot where Shiro and Allura are waiting for them, Lance turns to face Keith fully. “You care. Anyone can see it. And you want to help. But sometimes the best way to do that is _inside_ the machine. You want to make a difference? Then start making a difference. Boycotting aquariums doesn’t _do_ anything; getting in there and being the voice for the changes you want to see _does_. You don’t get to tell us we aren’t doing enough or that we’re doing it wrong until you join the battle.”

* * *

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	4. The Sodapop Shop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're a mermaid? No bullshit?"  
> "Yes I am." Keith smiles, "so about me training dolphins?"

There are few things in life Pidge can tolerate with equanimity: Lance’s extended theatrics do not often fall into that category.

“Lance, come over here and sit down!” she snaps, “you’re gonna wear out those sneakers.”

Lance pauses his endless pacing long enough to glare at her. “But what if they got into an accident? You saw Keith drive; tell me you think that isn’t a possibility. Go on, _tell_ me.”

“They’re fine,” says Shiro, “they’re just running a little late.”

“Allura’s always running late,” says Coran twisting the end of his mustache upwards, “there was this one time we were all set to go to the yacht club, but Allura couldn’t figure out what to wear…”

“But she _can’t_ be having a hard time figuring out what to wear! We’re just chilling on the boardwalk. We’ve done this, like, a thousand times,” Lance points out. 

Coran takes the interruption gracefully. “I see your point.”

“Lance please sit down,” Pidge repeats. She slaps a vacant spot on the bench beside her. And Lance relents. He drops himself into the space next to her, albeit dramatically, and proceeds to take up as much room as possible with his man-spreading.

They’re waiting at the bottom of the Altea Bay Boardwalk: Lance, Pidge, Hunk, Shiro, and Coran. And Keith and Allura should be showing up any minute. It’s a warm Friday night, with a stiff sea breeze and a star filled sky. Lance had thought they all needed a little fun, time to loosen up after a week of hard work, so he set up a hangout on the boardwalk. A Friday night chillout with their dolphin family plus one.

Pidge hadn’t been surprised to find out that Lance invited Keith as well. When Lance told her that Keith would be coming, he’d said it was because Allura needed a ride from her house while Shiro had the Jeep at work. Which wasn’t exactly a lie. Not inasmuch as Keith volunteered to pick Allura up on his way back from the art store. But that’s not the real reason Keith is coming. Pidge is smarter than that. Lance invited Keith because he _likes_ him.

But Lance probably doesn’t know it yet. Scratch that, he definitely doesn’t know it yet. Lance is still too preoccupied with the disastrous situation that is Nyma Rossi to actually consider the fact that he _likes_ Keith. But whether or not Lance sees it is another matter entirely, because Pidge is _definitely_ seeing something. She isn’t sure what she’s seeing exactly, but she is determined to get to the bottom of it. For Lance’s sake. Because he doesn’t need to go through another terrible relationship. And Nyma is an ongoing problem. All of which means that Pidge has to assess Keith as a potential boyfriend for him without anyone being the wiser.

So far, she likes Keith. He gives Lance someone to compete with who doesn’t always have to have his own way. And he can take a joke as easily as he can dish it out, which is a _huge_ upgrade from any of Lance’s previous infatuations, in her opinion. Sure, Keith is a little… _mysterious_. It’s like he has a thousand private jokes with himself because he has a thousand private secrets: well either that, or he’s got just one earth shatteringly _big_ secret. But that isn’t necessarily a point _against_ Keith. Just…another reason for Pidge to keep an eye on him.

They end up waiting another six or seven minutes before Hunk spots Keith’s bright red car pulling up to a parking meter across the road. Keith steps out into the street before reaching back into the car for what appears, at a distance, to be a black cowboy hat. Allura’s head pops up on the other side of the car and she heads for the meter. The two of them seem to be pooling their change and laughing about something for about another minute or so before they _finally_ make it to the boardwalk.

“Hey,” Allura waves at them from the middle of the crosswalk, “sorry we’re late!”

“You’re _ALIVE!_ ”

Unsurprisingly, Lance is the first one to greet them. He jumps up from the bench beside Pidge and tackles both of them at the same time. Allura is used to Lance’s attack hugs by now and, despite wearing three inch heels, manages to brace herself for impact. Keith on the other hand, gets caught completely off guard. His eyes widen comically for a second before Lance slams into him.

Keith goes down hard. Stumbles backward, trips over his long cargo pants, and lands squarely on his ass. He stares up at Lance in a confused daze. Which, in Pidge’s opinion, is fucking hilarious.

For his part, Lance turns back to face her, equally surprised. And embarrassed. His face is bright red as he looks to Hunk for help. Because Lance is like a golden retriever puppy: there’s just too much energy and enthusiasm to fit in that skinny body of his.

Pidge can’t help it. She cackles. “Oh my god! Keith, you just got here, and already that’s one argument with gravity you’ve lost.”

Keith is still sitting on the crosswalk. Dazed expression turned to his more habitual scowl as he locks eyes with her. He doesn’t say anything, but he does extend her the middle finger.

“I am _so_ sorry,” says Lance. He reaches a hand down to help Keith up, “I was just excited…you guys were so late, I thought you were dead or in the hospital somewhere or…”

“We’re fine, thank you, Lance,” says Keith cutting off the rambling as Lance levers him off the concrete.

“What kept you?” Shiro butts in as he pockets his phone and steps over to join them. 

Keith and Allura exchange a look. “We lost track of time,” Keith says eventually.

“That was my fault,” Allura admits, “I couldn’t decide what to wear.”

Lance clamps his hands on the top of his head. “Oh my god!”

Shiro laughs.

“As I was telling Lance just now,” Corran says loudly over Shiro’s boisterous laugh. “Do you remember that night when your father was taking us out to the Yacht club…”

“And he left me at home because I wasn’t ready?” Allura finishes, “yeah.”

“You were so mad,” Corran laughs, “you called him every ten minutes just to make sure he couldn’t forget you were at home.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “Every ten minutes?”

“Yes indeed,” Corran says cheerfully.

“Keith, this is Corran,” Allura introduces, “Corran, this is Shiro’s little brother.”

Corran extends his hand to Keith. “A pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Likewise?” And for the first time, Pidge watches Keith’s cool asshole attitude melt away into something kind of awkward. Because it’s clear to Pidge that Keith has barely been apprised of Corran’s existence prior to this moment.

But true to form, Corran is as chipper as ever, graciously glossing over the awkwardness to compliment Allura on her final ensemble. “You do look splendid my dear,” he says.

“Thanks, Corran.” Allura twists this way and that to show off her bright pink and blue jumpsuit with flowing sleeves and loose bellbottoms. She looks good. Really good. And poor Shiro looks like’s stopped functioning. Pidge wants to troll him—even dad needs a hand (ha, pun) now and then—but Hunk get’s them back on track.

“Right. So are we gonna party or what?” asks Hunk.

“ _Party!_ ” Lance shouts, shoving the shirt back into his bag, “this night is gonna be _lit!_ ”

“Then lead the way my boy,” says Corran.

Lance turns a 180 on his heal, arm pinwheeling up and over as he does so, to point at the end of the boardwalk. “Onward. To the Pop-shop!”

Hunk and Corran fall into step behind Lance who strides forward to take the lead. Shiro and Allura drift easily into each other’s orbit as they begin walking a few feet behind the leaders. _Disgusting_. And annoyingly cute. So that leaves Pidge to bring up the rear with Keith. She holds back at the bottom of the short wooden stairs leading up to the boardwalk. When Keith catches up, they ascend the steps together.

“Lance tells me you’re a conspiracy theorist,” Pidge starts.

Keith swings the hat—which is not _quite_ a cowboy hat—on top of his head as he turns to her. “That’s right.”

“So mermaids…” she gives him a knowing smirk, because of course Lance told her Keith believes in mermaids.

“Yeah. What about em?” He gives her a curious searching look.

“Where’s your evidence? I’m curious,” Pidge says.

“Do you believe?”

“Huh?”

“In mermaids?”

“Ehh…not really, no.”

“Where’s your evidence?” Keith gives her a smug little smirk. He has her. And he knows it. It’s practically impossible to prove mermaids don’t exist. It’s practically impossible—if not completely impossible—to prove a negative in general. Because even if you can’t find evidence that mermaids are out there, the lack of evidence is not conclusive proof that they _aren’t_.

“Fuck,” says Pidge.

Keith’s laugh reaches his eyes. “Exactly.”

“OK, OK,” Pidge laughs with him, “I’ll add mermaids to my list of things to research further with the cryptids and aliens.”

Keith stops suddenly, grabbing her arm and looking her straight in the eye. “Cryptids and aliens? Do you know Mothman?”

Pidge feels her heartbeat quicken with excitement. “Yes!”

Keith looks ecstatic. Or as close to ecstatic as Keith Kogane comes to looking. “Dude! Do you know Adam West? The cryptid hunter?”

 _Duh. Of course she does_. “I follow him on Instagram. He has that documentary coming out next weekend.”

“Are you gonna watch it?”

“ _Duh_ ,” Pidge rolls her eyes at him, “what about you?”

“As soon as it shows up on YouTube. I don’t have cable in the trailer.”

Pidge reaches out and punches him in the shoulder. “Trip, my man, you are coming over next Saturday and we are watching that documentary.”

Keith holds up a hand. Pidge clasps it firmly, they shake once, pull apart and fist bump. “Tater-tot, I will bring _buckets_ of pop-corn for you.”

“Only the kettle corn kind,” she says.

“You got it.”

“Oi Mullet, Pigeon! Keep up!” Lance shouts back to them from several feet ahead.

Pidge shrugs. They end up jogging a few paces to catch up with the rest of the gang that kept walking while they stopped. Pidge smiles. She likes Keith. It’s still too early to tell, but so far, she really likes him.

They saunter down the boardwalk under a dark blue sky lit by thousands of twinkly lights, warm glowing shop windows, and intermittent streetlights. There’s a little cotton-candy stand surrounded by a few children and a hot-dog shop a little further on. There’s an arcade with a grand total of 13 games, three of which are claw machines. And there are a good many boutiques that catch Allura’s attention every now and then.

Lance leads them right to the end of the boardwalk where the water laps urgently against the supports. He turns left past the picknick tables and walks into the last little shop in the row.

The Penny Kitchen, or as Lance calls it ‘the Pop Shop’, it a is little old-fashioned ice-cream and candy store at the end of the boardwalk. It’s lit up like a Christmas tree with blue and pink neon signs shining through polished glass windows. Along the right wall of the shop, there are long wooden shelves lined with glass jars full of assorted candy. And on the left is a glass freezer with home-made ice-creams. There’s a little cash counter with a 1960’s till beside a hand painted tip-jar, and a refrigerator full of soda bottles at the back. The walls are lined with vintage posters and pin-ups; there’s even a jukebox in the corner playing ‘Rout 66’ by Chuck Berry.

The space is tight. Cramming the whole gang into the Pop Shop is always an event. They end up tripping over each other, their laughter bouncing off the walls as the poor ice-cream girl struggles to keep all their orders straight.

Pidge loves the Pop Shop. Almost as much as Lance who moves back and forth between the ice-cream and the candy with big bright eyes and a goofy smile. She smiles and shakes her head at him before turning to the girl behind the counter to give her order.

She and Hunk get the same thing; a double scoop of cookies n’ cream with candied cherries. Shiro gets mint chocolate chip in a cup instead of a cone, _the heathen_ , while Corran orders a pint of rainbow sherbet with sprinkles, because he’s extra like that. And predictably, Allura gets a vanilla milkshake with a heath bar and peanut butter cups.

Which just leaves...”Lance, hurry up and order already,” Pidge snaps.

“I’m not ready yet,” Lance protests, which is ridiculous because there’s only like six flavors to choose from anyways, “Keith can order before me.”

Keith opens his mouth to say something but Shiro beets him to the punch. “Keith isn’t getting any. He’s lactose intolerant.”

Lance’s eyes goggle and his mouth drops open. “What? _Not getting any_? That’s the saddest thing I have ever heard!”

Pidge rolls her eyes at him. “That still leaves you to order, dumbass.”

“No,” Lance declares stubbornly, “if Keith can’t have any that neither will I.”

 _Cute_ , Pidge thinks, but also not necessary.

Keith points at the ice-cream freezer. “I’m fine Lance. Go get your ice-cream. I’ll just get a Lyn-Lyn.”

Lance frowns. Pidge can tell he really wants ice-cream, but she also knows he never wants to leave anyone out. Hunk says he’s been like that since fourth grade. He just won’t let anyone feel like an outsider. And even Pidge has to admit that’s sweet. But really it can’t hurt if he get’s a milkshake with them, especially since Keith doesn’t seem to be feeling left out in the first place.

“Lance, just get your ice-cream and let’s go,” Pidge insists.

“Yes please,” Shiro adds, “we’re holding up the store and there’s some people who’d like to get in.”

But Lance is stubborn. “No.”

“Oh my god, Lance,” says an exasperated Keith, “I’m fine with a soda. Now go get your ice-cream.”

“I’m getting a Lyn-Lyn with you, and that’s final,” says Lance.

A little frown makes its way onto Keith’s face. “What are you? Nine?”

Lance glares at him. “If that’s what it takes for you to go along with me, then yes, I am nine.”

The _real_ adults of the group just shrug as the two idiots walk over to the refrigerator to pick out a couple sodas. The fridge is fully stocked with vintage bottles; the top shelves of which are devoted solely to Lyn-Lyns. A local pop brand renowned for crazy flavors. It doesn’t take Lance and Keith long to start arguing; Lance takes forever to pick out a new flavor to try and Keith is the kind of guy who finds something that works for him and sticks with it. Needless to say, they don’t understand each other and quickly start bickering like an old married couple. Honestly, they’re embarrassing. Not as embarrassing as Allura blushing while Shiro pays for her ice-cream, but they run her a close second.

Which basically leaves Pidge to regret walking into the Pop Shop with _any_ of them in the first place. Even Hunk isn’t any help. When she looks up at him in desperation, he only shrugs unhelpfully before stepping into the cash line behind Corran. _Fucking useless_. So she resolves to ignore them all.

Hunk finishes paying and Pidge takes another step closer to the counter. As she moves forward, she digs through the long pockets of her brother’s shorts for loose change. Her fingers brush up against a wad of receipts, a shoestring, and a few candy wrappers before closing around a handful of nickels and dimes.

“Just the ice-cream, miss?” the girl at the register asks.

“Yep, that’s all,” Pidge confirms.

“That’ll come out to 2 dollars and 85 cents, please.”

Pidge plops 7 quarters on the counter before one-handedly sorting through the nickels and dines. She likes exact change. There’s a certain precision—a mathematical elegance—about using the smaller coins to make up the final bill. She’s always been like that. Ever since she was a kid saving up her pennies and dimes for M&M’s at the gas station. It’s satisfying. And it makes sense.

Math makes sense.

What _doesn’t_ make sense are the two idiots in line behind her.

Pidge has the feeling she tuned in on their conversation at the most inopportune moment because as per usual, Lance is saying something that makes absolutely no fucking sense whatsoever. She wonders how Keith is keeping up. It’s all Pidge can do to focus on her change with Lance being a goofball in her ear.

“Pidgy, tell Keith that Disney’s _Little Mermaid_ is fantastic,” Lance demands.

Pidge resists the urge to roll her eyes. “It’s fantastic.”

“Now tell him he has to watch it.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s got this weird obsession with…”

“I am _not_ obsessed,” Keith interjects.

Lance continues and she can just imagine the unimpressed look on his face. “He’s got this weird obsession with mermaids, but he hasn’t seen the movie.”

“You should see the movie. Not because you’re obsessed with mermaids, but it’s a classic,” she says. Because Pidge _is_ capable of being a supportive friend.

“Ah-ha!” Lance cheers as though she just proved some earth-shattering scientific hypothesis of his. “See Mullet, you have to watch the _Little Mermaid_. The great Pidge has decreed it.”

“It wasn’t a decree,” Keith grumbles.

Pidge laughs a little on the inside. Lance makes her laugh, the obnoxious bastard. He’s just too much fun for the world to properly appreciate. Just like Hunk is too good.

The cashier snaps Pidge out of her introspective thoughts. “You’re five cents short, miss.”

Pidge doesn’t make mathematical mistakes. Not unless…she slams another nickel on the counter, “ _LANCE…_ ”

Hunk picks out a picnic table for them on the end of the boardwalk, happily situated under several ropes of bright white twinkly lights. He drops himself onto the bench and makes a desperate grab for his melting ice-cream. He saves it but just barely. The others gather around then, filling in the open spaces. Pidge drops down across from Hunk and pulls out her phone. Shiro and Allura are forced to crowd onto the bench beside Hunk because Lance and Keith decided to slide in beside her. Corran drags a chair over from a two-person table and sits at the head because there isn’t really another option. Not that he minds of course. Corran likes to preside authoritatively over their nonsense. An occupational hazard of which is probably complete insanity; not that Pidge can prove the man was possessed of a complete bag of marbles prior to becoming their nominal ‘Dolphin Uncle’.

Things are pretty quiet for a bit as they settle in to eat their ice-cream. Pretty quiet that is, if you don’t count Lance, Keith, and Corran going hard core at another trivia game. Keith never raises his voice, even when he has the right answer, but the same can’t be said for Lance and Corran who seem to be under the erroneous assumption that shouting makes them more right.

It isn’t until Shiro comes back to the table from pitching his and Allura’s trash that the impromptu trivia match comes to an inconclusive end. Which is just fine with Pidge if it spares her having to hear Corran and Lance try to list off every Leonardo DiCaprio movie ever made. Not that what happens next is any more intellectually stimulating, mind you, but a change in pace is _almost_ as good as a break.

Lance slams his hands on the table, rattling the soda bottles as he does so, and declares loudly, “we’re gonna play a bonding game.”

His proclamation is met with various responses. The most prominent of which are an enthusiastic “OH YES!” from Corran, and a stalwart “oh no” from Keith.

“Come on people, nobody likes a stick in the mud,” Lance complains.

“I’m going to find a stick and some mud, and get a second opinion,” Pidge grumbles. Because she already knows they’re going to lose. Lance can be surprisingly convincing when he wants to be.

Predictably, Lance ignores her. “OK, let’s play ‘Two Truths and a Lie’.”

“What are we? Nine?” Keith demands.

“Yes. If that’s what it takes for you wet blankets to go along with me, then we are nine,” says Lance.

Pidge glares at her phone. “I’m too sober for this.”

“You’re 19 Pidge. You’re _supposed_ to be sober,” Shiro points out helpfully.

“I for one think it’s a splendid idea,” Corran puts in, “it’ll give us all a chance to learn more about the latest addition to the family.” He raises his pint of ice-cream at Keith who’s face remains fixedly impassive. Corran takes no notice of this. “In fact, do you mind if I start?”

“The conch is yours, Corran,” says Lance with all the sagely gravity of a weaselly politician.

Pidge braces herself for the inevitable spew of ridiculousness about to come out of Corran’s mouth. He always wins these games. Corran’s past is long and checkered with every color the human eye can perceive.

“So,” Corran says, “one: I was roped into swallowing a grub whole in the outback of Australia. Because the guide refused to take us home until we sampled some of the local cuisine. Two: I was shanghaied into the navy in New Zealand. Three: I lived in the British High Commission for a month, on the couch of the High Commissioner’s office, to avoid being arrested by the New Zealand government after I ‘deserted’.”

Allura looks at her uncle slack jawed. “So _that’s_ what happened in New Zealand? You joined the navy?!”

Corran twists the end of his mustache. “Well, one of those statements _is_ a lie.”

“But you can’t just make that shit up!” Lance shouts.

“Well we know for certain Corran ate a bug,” Pidge says (because that’s the most believable thing he’s said to date, fucking Corran), and she’s trying to narrow down their options. “So it’s one of the other two.”

Shiro looks honestly thoughtful. “I’d say he never got ‘shanghaied’ into the navy.’ The military doesn’t work like that.”

“It’s a trap, Shiro,” says Lance slamming both hands on the table, “it’s a trap I tell you. We’re talking about the New Zealand Navy, not the American Navy. We don’t know how _they_ operate.”

“I’m sticking to my theory,” says Shiro confidently.

“I’m kinda with Shiro,” says Allura, “I think I remember my dad saying something about Corran living in the High Commission when I was little.”

“Corran is a slippery bastard,” says Lance, “I’ll bet all three of them are at least _partly_ true.”

Corran looks smugly pleased with himself as he puts another spoonful of ice-cream in his mouth. “You may never know,” he says mysteriously.

Keith cocks his head to one side, eyeing the man intently. “Hypothetically, if I could listen in on your thoughts or ‘read your mind’, would that count as cheating? Or would that just be putting my natural talents to a creative use?”

Shiro looks like he’s swallowed a live goldfish. “Keith, no.”

But pidge takes the question seriously. “Well hypothetically, would the rest of us also have this power?”

“No,” says Keith, “hypothetically, you would not.”

“Keith…” Shiro starts warningly.

They ignore him. Lance leans forward on the table, thinking. “Well, in the unlikely event that you _could_ read his mind and the rest of us could not, how would your special skill work? Like, would you have to get out a crystal ball or Taro-cards or…”

“It’s more like one of those _X-Men_ movies,” says Keith, “like mutant DNA, or some such bullshit.”

Pidge snorts. “Then _hypothetically_ , no I’d say that isn’t cheating. That would be you using the tools at your disposal. Like Allura who grew up in the same house as Corran has an edge on the rest of us.”

“Hypothetically then, I’m Mystique and I can shapeshift into anyone I want,” says Lance.

“Ooh, ooh,” cries Hunk, “I call Cyclops! Laser eyes all the way, man.”

“That’s not even _relevant,_ ” Pidge points out.

Lance shrugs. “Neither is mind reading.”

Shiro drops his head onto the table for some reason. “Pidge, you’ve created a monster.”

“What?” Keith snaps at his brother, “it was a fair question. I don’t know you people, but just the same, I’m not going to lose if I can help it.”

“Oh my god!” Lance laughs, “You’re so fucking _competitive!_ ”

“You’re one to talk,” Hunk mutters into his ice-cream cone.

Lance ignores him and keeps his eyes on Keith instead. “But _mind reading_? You’re going to try reading our minds because you don’t want to lose? I can’t believe this!” Keith shrugs, which practically encourages Lance and whatever bad idea he has cooking. “OK, which one is the lie then?”

Pidge is actually interested despite herself. She watches Keith with wrapped interest as he taps two fingers to his temple and looks directly into Corran’s eyes. She wonders what kind of bullshit magic trick he’s got up his sleeve. Nobody moves or says anything for a good ten seconds until she finally blurts, “well Professor X, what’s the lie?”

Keith smirks. “The lie is that he lived in the High Commission for a month.”

Allura starts to protest, but Corran interrupts her. “That is correct,” he states.

“But how?” Allura demands, “I remember that!”

“Don’t know,” says Lance. Then he turns to Corran, “but that means you really _did_ get shanghaied into the New Zealand navy. What the actual fuck?”

Corran just shrugs. “If I wanted a boring life, I would have stayed in Charlbury.”

Pidge thinks they’re all missing the point. She glares at Keith. “That doesn’t prove the mind reading thing,” she tells him flatly, “I’m disappointed. All I see is that you had a one in three shot of being right.” She pushes her glasses further up onto the bridge of her nose. “Mathematically speaking, your odds of guessing correctly were pretty good.”

“And I’m still convinced I remember Corran living in the High Commission while he was in New Zealand,” Allura adds, because she’s a little fixated on that point.

For his part, Corran seems content to let them all squabble over it because he’s secretly an ancient alien overlord who likes to watch the world burn. Or maybe he’s Doctor Evil from _Austin Powers_. One of the two.

But Keith, it would seem, has an answer for everything. “Oh, he lived in the High Commission alright,” he says, “but the lie is that he lived there for a _month._ ”

Now Pidge is slightly impressed. Because judging by Corran’s face, Keith has hit the nail on the head. “So how long _did_ he live in the High Commission?” Pidge asks. And yeah, everyone else has the same question.

Keith smirks again. “Two months.”

“Correct, give that man a cigar,” says Corran like the host of some stupid gameshow.

Shiro groans into the table. “Somebody stop my brother, _please_ , on behalf of my dead ass.”

“How did you _do_ that?” Lance demands.

“Does it matter?” Keith asks.

“Fuck you and your non-answers,” Lance declares.

“Don’t encourage him,” Shiro pleads.

“Alright Rain Man, let’s keep playing.” Because Lance is _absolutely_ going to encourage this hocus-pocus. Which is just fine with Pidge because she kinda wants to know how Keith does it. The science of probability is really Matt’s field of interest, but fuck if it won’t come in handy in Vegas. Back on track. Lance has some non-sense to impart. “Option one—and nobody help him—my first boyfriend broke up with me because my middle toe is too long. Option two: I had my first kiss in the back of a police cruiser. Option three: the name of my latest crush is Melissa.”

Keith makes a face that says, in not so many words, ‘you have a problem.’ But he presses his fingers to his temple and looks into Lance’s soul. At least, that’s what it looks like from the outside.

“It’s option three,” says Keith after a minute.

Lance nods. “And what’s the truth?”

“You don’t know. You’re confused,” says Keith. And is he blushing? Pidge can’t tell. If he is, it’s hidden under his long bangs.

Lance doesn’t notice anything. Apparently. “Oh yeah? And why do you think that?”

“Your brain is like an upside-down funhouse,” Keith says. Which is honestly the most accurate description of Lance’s mind to date.

Lance nods, conceding the point. “Fair enough. But that doesn’t really answer the question: who’s my new crush?”

Keith gives him a pointed look. “Do _you_ even know?”

Lance, the reckless idiot, keeps pushing. “That sounds an awful lot like something a fraud would say.”

“Does it matter?” Keith asks.

“Yes!”

“Let it go,” says Keith.

“Aww come on Mullet,” Lance whines, “you told Corran what he was hiding.”

“Yeah. So?”

Shiro groans. “Lance, don’t push it. Supposing he really _does_ reveal your deep dark new crush. Think of all the Pidge you’ll have to deal with.”

“I’m OK with that,” Lance insists. “So tell me Mullet, what’s the _truth?_ ”

“No.”

“Are you _scared?_ ” Lance demands, because he’s _so_ mature.

“Those are private thoughts, Lance,” Keith says dry as a desert.

“But I gave you _permission_ ,” Lance says. “If you don’t tell me, then I won’t believe you can read minds.”

“Fine by me,” says Keith stubbornly, “and by the way, you have poor taste in dates.”

“Rude!” Lance declares, “ya know what, I’m not speaking to you anymore. Hunk kindly tell this miscreant, he can kiss my ass.”

Hunk slowly raises a tentative hand like a schoolboy afraid to contradict his teacher. “But you’re the one that brought it up in the first place.”

Lance huffs. “immaterial.”

“I don’t think you’re using that word correctly,” says Keith.

“So should we keep playing?” asks Allura, god bless her. “I’ll go next.”

The game goes on. They learn that Allura was seven when she learned to do a back-handspring. And that Shiro was the ‘Butt-bandit’ responsible for inappropriate screensavers on his teachers’ desktops back in high school. That Hunk’s favorite color as a kid was purple not yellow. And that Pidge has been proposed too _twice_ since she turned 18. There’s lots of laughing involved and a few ‘no way-s, that could never happen-s,’ and things have eased out of whatever dangerous territory they had almost gotten into.

The little gang gets increasingly more rowdy, caught up on a sugar high and intoxicated with general stupidity. The mind reading topic gets tabled for another occasion. Preferably one where there is a little more alcohol involved and a little less Dolphin Dad intervention. Well, sometimes a little dad-der-vention isn’t such a bad thing. Too bad Shiro is selective with the types of nonsense he will put up with. 

“Keith, stop dicking around with Lance over that bottlecap and take your turn,” Pidge demands.

“Oh right,” says Keith. He suddenly releases his hold on the bottle cap and Lance tumbles sideways off the bench with an indignant squawk. They universally elect to ignore him. “So statement one:” Keith starts, “I once memorized 100 digits of Pi for a bet. Statement 2: I am a mermaid. Statement three: one of the other two is a lie.”

For the second time tonight, Shiro head-desks—he is going to have a dark purple bruise right between his eyes if he keeps doing that—and groans in that put upon way parents often do, “Keith, why are you _like_ this?”

Keith shrugs, “I guess because you raised me that way.”

Another groan from Shiro. “You suck.”

“I agree,” says Lance. And because he’s given up on _not_ talking to Keith he adds, “I’m not sure you’ve quite got the idea of this game, Mullet.”

Keith just gives him a one shouldered shrug. “I’ll bet you a hundred bucks you don’t figure it out till after we’re best friends.”

Lance scoffs. “You’re on!”

“Lance no,” Shiro warns.

But Lance steamrolls ahead anyway and pulls out his phone. “OK, I’m gonna look up Pi, and you’re going to say as many numbers as you can.”

Keith makes a face. “That was three years ago. I don’t still remember them all.”

“Fine,” says Lance, “but you admit that one is true.”

“That one is true,” says Keith.

“So case closed,” says Lance.

“Nope.”

“Oh come on! What other option is there?”

“Hmm, I wonder.”

“Nope. No, no, no. No way.”

“So do you give up?”

“Yes! Because there’s only one possible answer here, Mullet-for-brains.”

“Anyone else?” Keith asks.

“I’m so confused right now,” says Hunk.

“So is that a no? Shiro?” Keith challenges.

Shiro looks down into his empty ice-cream cup, resigned to some unspecified fate. “I plead the fifth on behalf of my idiot brother.”

“So then I win,” says Keith.

“Nah-uh,” says Lance, “the only way you could win is if you were _actually_ a mermaid.”

Keith gives him an undecipherable look that’s vaguely self-satisfied. “You’re right, that would be crazy.”

“Ah-ha!” Lance jumps to his feet, “so you admit it! One hundred smackeroos. Hand em over.” He holds out his hand to Keith as if the guy just keeps a hundred-dollar bill in his back pocket at all times; so that, in the event he accidently loses some idiot bet, he has come prepared to pay out.

Keith ignores the hand thrust into his face and takes another sip of his soda. “If we’re ever best friends, I’ll saddle up, but not before.”

“Saddle up?” Lance repeats, “was that a pun?”

Pidge coughs conspicuously into her fist, cough “get a room” cough.

Keith seems totally cool with her teasing, because he’s a kill-joy dick like that, but Lance turns suitably bright red. “Pidge!” he squawks. Yes, Lance is really funny, especially when he isn’t trying to be.

They play a round of Kiss-Marry-Kill after that. It _almost_ devolves into a game of spin the bottle. That doesn’t happen though because Shiro starts sighting incest laws; and doesn’t he know that Keith was adopted? At any rate he and Keith refuse to cooperate. _Pussies_. That’s not to say they don’t make other poor life choices; Hunk, Lance, and Allura go back to the Pop Shop for more sugar and basically turn into the terrible trio. Corran is no help and Shiro is beside himself.

As the night winds down and the boardwalk closes, they relocate to the beach. There’s a few people left: some couples, a few idiots, and a small group of men out shark fishing. Pidge and Hunk have the lead this time. They’re trying to figure out how much the sharks might weigh and how many men it takes to wrangle a hammerhead. Also, why anyone would be dumb enough to go shark fishing in the first place, but Pidge figures they know at least three such idiots.

Keith and Shiro are a few feet behind them while Lance, Corran, and Allura bring up the rear. And for the second time tonight, Pidge tunes in on a conversation midway. Only this one isn’t complete nonsense. _This one could change everything_.

“Say that again?” Shiro sounds a combination of shocked and confused. 

“I…” Keith falters as if second guessing himself, “Lance said something the other day, and well…I don’t think I’ve been entirely fair to all of you. About the aquarium thing I mean. And well, I think…I think I want…I want to work with you guys. There I said it, I want to work at the aquarium. What do I do? How do I get myself in?”

At this point, Pidge turns around fully. Everyone else completely stops walking. She readjusts her glasses and stares at the brothers wondering just where this conversation is going.

After recovering from the shock of this—because it’s no secret that Keith despises their ‘fish prison’—Shiro looks cautiously excited. “You do?”

Keith nods. “I do.”

A broad smile blossoms on Shiro’s face as he takes this new piece of information and runs with it. Runs miles and miles away with it before Keith has the chance to change his mind. “I’m actually looking to hire another trainer right…”

“Woah, hold on a minute, there’s…” Allura starts to reason with him.

But Shiro is too busy acting like a six-year-old on Christmas morning. “Your timing is great. I’ve actually just gotten the go ahead from Zarkon to hire a mini-me…kind of…there’s a swim test on Wednesday….”

“Hold the phone,” says Lance in a state of semi-shock, “you already closed applications for that. We’ve already filled up the ten spots for the swim test.”

Shiro shrugs. “I’ll add another one. Who’ll notice one more? Besides, it’s only making more work for myself.”

“I think that’s the point,” says Allura, “you can’t just make exceptions for Keith because he’s your brother.”

“It wouldn’t be fair to the rest of the applicants,” says Lance.

“No wait, I wanna see what happens,” Pidge interjects.

“It’s not because he’s my brother,” Shiro interrupts, “I want Keith because I need another mini-me. The only reason we’re hiring another trainee instead of someone more qualified as a dolphin trainer and or a marine veterinary nurse, is because of the _budget._ I can’t afford an extra degree. But I know Keith won’t need the extra schooling to get the job done. He’ll be up to speed faster than anyone I know.”

“Because he can read your mind?” Pidge teases.

“Does it matter?” asks Keith.

Corran strokes his mustache sagely. “There are certain qualifications for the job.” He looks Keith in the eye. “You’ll need a four-year college degree…”

“I have a bachelor’s degree in anatomy and neuroscience,” Keith puts in.

And who knew? Pidge figured the guy went to art school or something. His right brain and left brain are like…oh hell, he’s probably a genius. Maybe even smarter than her. OK, so it’s official. Keith is _not_ human. Because what the actual fuck?

But Corran continues his impromptu interview. “A scuba certification.”

“He got his with me,” says Shiro.

“First Aid certification.”

“Check.”

“Why?” Lance demands.

Keith shrugs. “I was a lifeguard in college.”

“Of course you were,” Lance mutters.

Lance has been looking increasingly put out by the whole situation. And Pidge knows him well enough to have a pretty good guess at why. Lance spent every year of his life since his sophomore year of high school working up a resume to become a dolphin trainer. Lance worked his _ass off_. And even then, he thinks he only _got_ the job at the Aquarium because Zarkon took over and fired all the expensive personnel. Pidge doesn’t think that’s true even a little bit. Lance might be a goofball and generally insane, but he’s really good at his job.

But this train of thought is a digression from the point at hand. The point at hand being that Lance is about to have a hissy fit. Because self-doubt is a bitch from hell that just won’t leave her friend alone. He keeps saying he and Keith are rivals, but up until now, their paths in life were so different that it was really more of a joke. Now, it seems like it might not be a joke anymore.

Pidge knows Lance has always been obsessively competitive. And Keith, well, there isn’t a way to beat him. Because Keith just _isn’t_ human. There’s no way he is. Either he’s an alien from outer space or he _really is_ a mermaid. Those are the only two options as far as Pidge is concerned.

Not that Lance’s issues are in any way Keith’s fault. They both are who they are. Personally, Pidge thinks having Keith work with them would be a great idea, if for no other reason than his presence would distract Lance from Nyma and her shenanigans. OK, so using Keith as a decoy for Lance’s relationship problems might not be the best reason for endorsing his application. But give a girl a break; she’s been dealing with Nyma’s royal fuckery for two whole years. She needs back-up. Correction: she and Hunk need back up.

So Pidge decided to fast-track-approve Keith as a potential boyfriend for Lance and throws in her support. “How about this,” she says pushing her glasses up on her nose, “Shiro can approve Keith’s resume and add him to the list of people taking the swim test on Monday. But…” and here she looks directly at her boss, “someone else has to score the swim test. And someone else has to take charge of Keith’s interview. That way it’s more fair. And Shiro can’t be accused of being biased.”

Everyone takes a moment to let her words sink in.

Finally, Corran speaks up. “Yes, I think that sounds reasonable. Zarkon did give permission to Shiro to hire anyone _he_ chooses within the budget allowance.”

Shiro nods. “Lance can take charge of the swim test on Wednesday. Rolo, Nyma, and I can split his chores for the day. Hunk can second for him.”

Allura nods. “OK. I’ll go along with that. I’ll even sit in on the interview.”

“Great!” says Shiro. He’s still grinning.

“So then it’s all settled,” says Corran rubbing his hands together, “I think Keith would be a perfect fit for the team.”

But things are _not_ settled. Not if Lance’s face is any indication. And Pidge suspects that if Keith does get the job, things are going to be rocky between them for a bit. But she roots for her friends. All of them. And she believes whole heartedly that should things work out, they’ll both be better off for it. Pidge is a genius after all. She knows things.

‘Get that job Keith,’ she tells him without opening her mouth, ‘we need you. Lance needs you.’

The funny thing is, he turns and looks straight at her. And by god, she thinks he’s read her mind.

* * *

It’s Wednesday already, and Lance’s stress levels are through the roof.

He’s standing beside the pool at the Altea Bay YMCA where Shiro scheduled the swim test. Everything smells overpoweringly like chlorine and that air feels thick and muggy. It’s been a while since Lance has had an occasion to be anywhere near and indoor pool, and he’s forgotten how much he prefers to be outside. Right now, he and Hunk have the pool area all to themselves. There’s something that feels fake about the silence, and Lance finds himself staring into the water with the red and blue rings that divide the pool into lanes.

Not for the first time since they got here, Lance wishes he was back at work. Everyone else is safely back at the aquarium with the dolphins and a buttload of chores. Meanwhile Lance just has his clipboard, a whistle, and a whole lot of anxiety. Sure, he wants more responsibility around here, and sure he wants to make that move upwards, but really, shouldn’t Shiro be handling the swim test?

He glances down at his clipboard. He has eleven names—three boys and seven girls—all of whom have big dreams. Dreams Lance now holds in the palm of his hand. Dreams that are now, at least in part, his to make or break. And _that_ is terrifying.

Out of 732 applicants, Shiro has narrowed his potential hire list down to ten, eleven including Keith. Only eleven of the applicants made the cut to even _take_ the swim test. And it’s now Lance’s job to narrow it down to three. Only the top three after the swim test will get an interview and only one will get the job. That’s how this industry works. So you want to be a dolphin trainer? Great. But, you’d better be prepared for the reality that it’s a _fucking hard_ job to get.

Lance has already done this; has already gone through the excruciating torment that is the interview process for this job. And it really _fucking sucks_.

First, you send in a resume and hope and pray that you make it to the swim test. Then, you hope and pray you pass the swim-test. And after _that,_ you hope and pray you nail the interview— _if_ you’re lucky enough to even get one. And the whole time, you try not to get your hopes up. Because there’s a good chance someone will dash them, _again_. You spend every five minutes checking your email, hoping it’s the aquarium telling you you got the job, and 100 times out of 100 it _isn’t_. Then, you do the _whole thing again_ at some other aquarium. In short, the hiring process is _torture_. And Lance would rather army-crawl butt naked over sandpaper than go through that again.

But here he is on the other side of the equation, the man with the power to dash the dreams of seven poor souls just like him. And it’s all Keith’s fault.

Keith, who shouldn’t even _be_ one of the names on his list. Keith, who just decided he wants to be a dolphin trainer _this weekend_. Keith, who _didn’t_ lay all the groundwork to build up a resume. Keith, who probably doesn’t even _care_ about having the job. Keith, who’s a complete mystery that _talks to dolphins_ and will probably pull some magic _bullshit_ that blows everyone else out of the water.

Keith who will probably get hired because he’s fucking _Keith_.

Because Lance hasn’t found one single thing he _can’t_ do (other than volleyball of course, but that’s hardly relevant in this case). He is a phenomenal artist. He has a degree in fucking _neuro science._ He can talk to dolphins _apparently_ ; because fuck logic, the guy is magic or something. _And_ he can juggle being a complete asshole with being completely adorable. So yeah, Lance thinks there’s a good chance the jerk is also a good swimmer.

None of that is fair. Not when so many _normal_ people like him are putting their dreams in his hands for _real_.

Lance heaves a sigh. In retrospect, it’s partly his fault. He practically challenged Keith to become a dolphin trainer knowing full well that Keith doesn’t back out of _anything_ ever. He doesn’t back down and he doesn’t crash without one hell of a fight. Because Keith may be an arrogant little shit, but he’s got the balls and the coolness to back it up.

Lance resents Keith right now.

But also, he can’t be unfair. If Keith actually does turn out to be good, then he can’t be biased against him. Because that’s the whole reason Lance was put in charge of the swim test in the first place; to be _fair_. It’s actually kind of ironic. Everyone was so worried about _Shiro_ being biased, that they dumped this whole Vaudeville-Act into Lance’s lap when _he_ has the exact same problem!

But it’s fine. Everything is going to be _fine_.

Lance doesn’t even realize he’s furiously chewing on the end of his pencil until Hunk rips it out of his mouth.

“Lance, you’re going to hurt your teeth,” he scolds. “Either that or you’re going to die of led poisoning.”

“I hope so,” Lance grouses, snatching the pencil back from his friend.

“Is this still about Keith,” Hunk asks, almost delicately.

“ _No_ ,” Lance snaps, even though he knows that Hunk knows it’s a load of bullshit. He hasn’t complained about anything _except_ Keith for days. “It’s just that in two minutes, eleven people are going to walk out of the changerooms and I’m going to have to crush all their hopes and dreams.”

Hunk gives him a sympathetic look. “Lance, you’re not going to crush their dreams. That’s not on you. Shiro told you to give him the top three names. That’s it. It’s all up to them where they fit in the pecking order, you’re just recording data. You know, like a computer. It’s not personal.”

Lance wants to throw his hands in the air, except he’ll probably hit his friend in the chin with the clipboard. “But it _is_ personal because _Keith_.”

“Because Keith what?” Hunk asks. “Because he’s your friend?”

“Because he’s…because he’s _Keith!_ ” Lance whines.

“That literally makes no sense,” says Hunk shaking his head.

“It’s not supposed to. It’s _Keith._ ”

“But I thought you guys were all good these days,” Hunk says, “I mean, you spend so much time texting…”

Lance deflates a little. “We used to.”

Hunk gives him a quizzical look. “What do you mean you _used_ to?”

“We haven’t talked since the boardwalk,” he admits. Then decides to come clean. “I just…I just know he’s gonna get the job. And he doesn’t even want it because he _hates_ the aquarium, and I’m just not ready for…for someone to show me up again. It’s like he’s trying to spite me or something.”

Lance busies himself with the clipboard. Because logically, he _knows_ Keith isn’t trying to spite him. But Lance isn’t exactly on speaking terms with logic these days, so all he can do is go with his feelings. And as everyone knows, feelings are a fickle bitch. So he prepares himself for one of Hunk’s abbreviated best-friend lectures. A lecture that’s supposed to get him back on track long enough to get through whatever it is he has to do.

Hunk puts a big steady hand on his shoulder. “Keith’s not trying to spite you. If anything, he’s doing this because he respects you. And Shiro. And he’s trying to fight the fight from inside the system just like you told him to.”

“How do you know that?”

“He as much as told us so on the boardwalk.”

That doesn’t really help right now, but Lance will pretend it does. “And what about me crushing the dreams of hardworking psych students who want nothing more than a nice job training dolphins?”

“That’s not your problem,” says Hunk, “Shiro and Allura are making the final decision on who to hire. You’re crushing no one.”

Lance finally looks up from his clipboard. There’s still about a thousand and one thoughts swirling through his head and about a million and one emotions, but he has a reputation to uphold. One as the resident goofball. He forces a smile.

“Anyways,” says Hunk, “I’m going to go get our recruits and see what’s keeping them. Punctuality is a virtue and all that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Lance, “let’s get’er done.”

Hunk just laughs and jogs off.

Lance looks at his wristwatch. One minute. The swim test starts in one minute.

In ones and twos, the applicants start filing out onto the pool deck behind Hunk. There’s a sea of new faces walking toward the pool in a little clump. Lance tells himself he isn’t looking for Keith in the see of strange faces, except he totally is.

As it turns out, he doesn’t even have to bother trying because Keith’s mullet stands out like a sore thumb. Well, the mullet and the fact that he looks completely calm. Everyone else has the decency to look at least a little nervous, but not Keith. _Oh no_. Actual human emotions are too much to ask for from him. Keith just stands on the outskirts of the group with folded arms, sharp eyes, and utter disinterest. It’s like he _knows_ he’s going to be better than the rest of them and his attitude is pissing Lance off. So that’s when he vows not to make eye contact with his arch rival.

Lance needs to take control of this situation right now before his blood pressure puts him in the hospital. “OK everyone,” he calls to get the group’s attention, “I’m Lance and I’ll be in charge of the swim test today. I’d like to start by welcoming you all to the Altea Bay Aquarium and wishing each and every one of you the very best of luck.” He smiles at everyone, conveniently missing Keith on the outskirts. “I’m going to list off the names here; just raise your hand so I know who you are. Ezor Brown…”

A girl with a bright pink ponytail and blond bangs raises her hand and gives an enthusiastic ‘present’. Lance smiles. He’s probably going to like her.

He keeps going. “Romelle Hastings, James Griffin, Ryan Kinkade, Ryner Landon, Axca Monique, Zethrid Rocket, Narti Benatti…and…” Now he _has_ to look in Keith’s direction. “And Keith Kogane.”

Keith gives him a backward two fingered salute and a challenging smirk, one that says, ‘do your worst Lance.’ It’s absolutely the most infuriating thing that asshole could have done in that moment. It’s also really hot.

Lance makes the executive decision to start the swim test ASAP. Can’t get distracted by pretty eyes and roguish smirks when everyone’s heads are under water, after all. He looks down at the clipboard at the list of things they need to do:

**_Altea Bay Aquarium: Dolphin Crew Swim Test_ **

  * **_Swim freestyle at a moderate pace while still maintaining good form_**
  * **_Swim over 70ft underwater_**
  * **_Complete 30 military style pushups_**
  * **_Dive off a platform with perfect form from 5-20 feet high_**
  * **_Retrieve a weight 20-40 feet below the surface_**
  * **_Haul yourself out of the water on to a deck without struggle_**



Lance assigns them each a roped off lane for the length swim. And if he puts Keith in lane twelve—the closest lane to himself and Hunk—with the intention of keeping an eye on his jerk rival, he feels no shame. Everyone jumps into the water and hooks an arm over the deck waiting for Lance to give the go ahead to get moving. They’re starting in the deep end and they don’t get to dive. Half because that’s what they’ll realistically be doing on the job, and half because Shiro runs everything like the ex-naval officer he is.

“Alright,” says Lance loudly, “first lap is a freestyle swim to the end. Second lap, you will swim completely submerged to the 70 feet marker. In case you’re wondering, the markers you’re looking for are the black rings on the lane dividers. When I blow the whistle, lanes one and twelve will start; that’s Ezor and Keith. We’ll work our way towards the middle lanes when they’ve finished. This is _not_ a race.” He looks pointedly in Keith’s direction, who in turn, looks all the way across the pool to Ezor in lane one beside Hunk. Ezor gives Keith a conspiratorial little wave and starts grinning like a maniac. _This can’t be good._ Lance looks up at the ceiling. _This is going to be a long test_. “Ready…” Lance blows the whistle.

Keith and Ezor are off. And it’s _definitely_ a race. They’re fast. Faster than anyone Lance has ever seen. Ezor has long legs and big feet. She glides easily through the water, like a dancer or a speeding jellyfish; you know, if jellyfish _could_ speed. 

But as fast as she is, Keith is faster. The guy can’t run to save his life, but put him in the pool and Keith is a regular fish out of water. He could have been an Olympic swimmer if he ever gave commitment and hard work a second thought. It’s like the water has a vested interest in getting out of his way as he cuts across the pool like a knife. And he barely even has to take a breath. It’s like air is a second thought; like breathing is optional, inconvenient even.

Keith and Ezor make it to the other end of the pool and start the return lap. Their heads go under the water and stay there. They become colorful shadows gliding along the pool floor. Surprisingly, it’s Ezor who’s head pops up at the 70 foot marker first. Funny, Lance could have sworn Keith was faster. But what happens next, well Lance figures he should have known, Keith’s head pops up another 50 feet later back at the starting point in the deep end. The guy swam the entire length of the pool without taking a breath, and by god, he doesn’t even look winded.

Lance marches over to the deep end, and stands over Keith with one hand on his hip, clipboard tucked under the opposite arm. “I told you it wasn’t a race.”

Keith glares up at him. “Who’s racing? I’m always that fast. Next time specify ‘leisurely float’ if you want me to swim like a human.”

‘ _If you want me to swim like a human_ ,’ Lance’s internal voice mocks. But out loud, he has to be professional. “Next time, listen.” Keith roles his eyes, but Lance is starting to be able to read the variations of Keith’s facial expressions, and this one has just a hint of resignation in it. Which, considering this is Keith, is as good as he’s going to get.

“Right,” Lance says loudly, “lanes eleven and two; James and Zethrid. Ready…” he blows the whistle. These two are a lot slower. Though whether that’s because they’re actually that much slower or because they’re making a point of not racing is anyone’s guess. Either way, Lance puts two big checkmarks beside Keith and Ezor’s names.

Once everyone has competed the first two laps of the swim test—two people just missed the 70 feet markers on the second lap—Lance has everyone back up on the deck doing pushups. Keith and Ezor seem to have picked each other out as either best friends or rivals or something and seem to be having a pushup competition. Ezor speeds up. Keith puts one arm behind his back. Ezor keeps going after they hit the required 30. Keith matches her push up for push up.

Lance is either jealous of Keith, jealous of Ezor, or embarrassed for both of them. All the other applicants seem to be wondering if they should keep going as well just to prove a point.

Hunk leans over into Lance’s space so he can talk without being overheard. “I bet 20 bucks on Keith.”

Lance holds the clipboard up in front of his face, which feels suddenly hot for some reason, and groans. “They’re both idiots.”

Hunk pats him on the shoulder. “Welcome to my world.”

“That’s enough you two,” Lance says loudly, “you’re holding up the test.”

Keith and Ezor give it up. Lance thinks they should look sheepish, but they don’t. In fact, Ezor looks rather pleased with herself, and Keith still just looks like…well, he’s still wearing his resting Keith-face. It’s a thing, OK. Lance will go to his grave believing that’s a thing.

“Right, now that that’s over,” Lance sends the two idiots a sideways look, “the next thing on our agenda is diving. Use the high-board; straight swan dive with perfect form. Romelle Hastings, you’ve got the first go, everyone else line up behind her.”

Lance and Hunk walk around the back of the diving board ladder as everyone lines up. They position themselves well enough to watch the dives. Neither one of them is an expert in the finer points of diving, but for these purposes, a nice clean dive will suffice.

Romelle goes first. Her dive is straight and clean. Lance gives her a nice checkmark—it won’t make up for missing the 70 foot marker on the second swim—but for what it’s worth, her diving is pretty good. James Griffin goes next. His knees bend as he hits the water. Lance isn’t sure if he can count that as perfect form or not. Not when Romelle was obviously so much better. He gives James a question mark. Zethrid is up next. Her diving is pretty solid, not as good as Romelle, but Lance can’t find a fault. Zethrid gets a checkmark.

Lance braces himself. Keith is up next. He stands on the end of the diving board looking down at the water with a little pout. He glances briefly in Lance’s direction, for the first time looking slightly uncomfortable. And oh _, ohh,_ he doesn’t like heights. Hunk gives Keith a little thumbs up of encouragement, which is nice because Lance imagines that his own face probably looks a little predatory. You can think of him like a shark, Lance smells blood in the water. He’s found another thing Keith probably can’t do and _that_ is satisfying.

“Anytime today, Princess,” says Lance making a grand gesture at the pool.

He can see the exact moment Keith gets mad _. ‘Oh screw it,_ ’ is written all over his face as the little pout—which was _way_ cuter by the way—flattens into a murderous scowl.

Keith jumps. He goes high into the air, body rounding slightly into a hollow laid-out position. His arms rise over his head ready to punch a path through the surface of the water. Perfect form. Keith dives just like a dolphin if that’s even possible. When his head pops back up out of the water, he flings his bangs out of his face, and gives Lance two middle fingers.

Lance glowers at him, “get a move on, Mullet. We’ve got seven more people to go.”

“That was pretty good,” says Hunk as Keith hauls himself back up onto the deck.

“It was terrible,” says Lance. But he gives Keith a big fat checkmark anyways. Because Lance was brought in to be fair.

Ezor climbs the ladder up to the diving board and, with a wink in Keith’s direction, she turns her back to the water and jumps. Her body flies into the air, summersaults way above their heads, and breaks the surface of the water straight as a pin. When her head pops back up, there’s a wide grin on her face that’s entirely too self-satisfied. She looks up at Lance and Hunk. And Lance wants to facepalm, but Hunk the traitor, is giving her an enthusiastic thumbs up. _That wasn’t even part of the test!_ It’s official. Lance can’t take any more of these applicants.

The rest of the swim test isn’t much different. Keith and Ezor are annoying as hell, but damn if they aren’t amazing. Their names stick side by side up at the top of Lance’s list right to the very end, and he’s pretty sure he’s going to be seeing one of them at work on Monday morning.

When the test is over, Lance sends everyone back to the locker rooms. Once he and Hunk have the pool to themselves again, he runs. Runs before Keith can get cleaned up. Before Keith can confront him about the obvious tension between them.

Hunk doesn’t say anything. He lets it go. So Lance flees the scene.

* * *

It’s Friday afternoon and Shiro hasn’t been quite this excited since the day he and Allura bought the house. Because today, he’s interviewing applicants for the dolphin trainer position at the Aquarium. Well, he and Allura, but despite what the other’s think, Zarkon gave _him_ the go-ahead to hire whoever _he_ wants. In other words, Allura’s just sitting in on the interviews to make everyone more comfortable but she doesn’t really have a say in who he picks. Not officially anyways. It’s not that Shiro doesn’t value Allura’s opinion, but in the end, he’s going to do what he’s going to do. 

He looks over the note’s he’d taken on the last interview. The girl, Ezor Brown, had been highly recommended by Lance and Shiro can’t say he was disappointed. Ezor seemed strong, determined, kindhearted, and playful. He remembered her resume from the screening process, and he remembered thinking she looked great on paper. Better than Pidge even, which nobody would have thought was possible.

“Ezor seems like a pretty good fit for your team,” Allura comments. She leans back in her chair and picks up her tea by the lid. It’s some Starbucks concoction with ice and a lot of sugar. She swirls the contents around to stir up the bubbles. “I like her.”

Shiro nods and sets Ezor’s papers back on his desk. “I like her too. I can see her and Lance being thick as thieves.”

Allura snorts into her tea. “I don’t think we’ll be able to handle that.” She pauses for thought. Her nose wrinkles slightly and her lips form a thin line. Which Shiro knows by now means she’s about to point out something he’d rather not deal with. “She seems spirited. And she’s pretty.”

“You think Nyma will be a problem?” he asks.

“Nyma doesn’t like any of the girls we hire. And Ezor?...Well, like I said, she’s pretty.”

Shiro sighs. Allura is rarely diplomatic to people’s faces—never when it’s just the two of them in the office—and sadly, she has a point. Nyma Rossi has been a thorn in Shiro’s side since Zarkon promoted him to the out-door exhibit and marine mammal trainer manager. She’s nice enough to his face sure, but she likes to undermine his authority wherever possible. Which he might, _might_ , be able to put up with, if she didn’t also cause problems among the staff with her hop-scotch approach to dating. In short, Nyma has dated every man that has ever worked on the dolphin crew. And she’s been downright cruel to every girl Shiro has ever hired. There’s a reason Altea Bay Aquarium is the anomaly in a field usually dominated by women; Nyma Rossi. So Ezor? Shiro would hate to hire someone new for Nyma to pick on.

Not that that’s fair, because it isn’t.

Shiro runs a sweaty hand through the tuft of white hair hanging over his forehead. And did the office AC blow out again? Must have. “I’m tired of considering whether or not Nyma will be a problem before I hire someone.” He pats Ezor’s papers with one hand.

Allura gives him an unimpressed look. “Then fire her.”

“We’re short staffed,” says Shiro, because they’ve had this conversation before, “either I fire her and we cut the number of shows while we train someone new or I hire someone already ready for more money and you _know_ Zarkon won’t go for that. Our whole crew is underpaid as it is and anyone worth getting will realize they can make more money at Sea World or the Tampa Aquarium.”

“Yes I know.” Allura picks up another stack of papers from the desk and starts flipping idly through them. “Your brother’s coming in in a couple minutes. Looks like Lance was impressed at that swim test.”

Shiro smiles. “You seeing all those enthusiastic checkmarks?”

She nods. “He put him right at the top of the list.”

“That’s my baby brother. A regular fish out of water.”

Allura snorts again. “Think Nyma will go after Keith?”

Now Shiro laughs out loud. “Good luck to her.”

“Good luck to who?” Keith’s head pops around the corner as he steps into Shiro’s office. He doesn’t look like he’s dressed for an interview; his conspiracy theorist tee-shirt is, as per usual, covered in paint and his hair is a wind-swept mess. But that’s Keith for you, no decorum whatsoever. Take it or leave it. That’s one of the things Shiro loves about him.

Allura on the other hand, doesn’t look impressed. “You’re early,” she says flatly.

“Better than late, right?” says Keith. He gives her a deadpan frown only offset by a little cheeky wink.

“Touché,” Allura concedes. She takes a loud slurp of her tea to signify that this line of conversation is over. God, Shiro loves these two.

Shiro rolls his eyes. “Why don’t you just take a seat, Kit?” He gestures to the vacant chair on the opposite side of the cluttered desk.

Keith either throws himself into the chair or else trips over the extension cable to the dehumidifier. Either way, he lands unceremoniously on his ass, head rolling over to look Shiro in the eye with casual disinterest. Not a great start to an interview, but then there’s a reason Keith sells paintings down by the beach for a living.

“Let’s try to forget we’re all friends and try to be professional here,” says Allura briskly. She straightens her back and gives a tug to straighten out the front of her scrubs. She extends a perfectly manicured hand over the desk in Keith’s direction. “Welcome to the Altea Bay Aquarium, Keith. There’s just a few questions we’d like to ask you.”

Keith raises an eyebrow at this, but apparently decides to go along with it. He sits up a little straighter and takes the hand.” Charmed I’m sure Miss King,” he says in a horrible rendition of a British accent.

Allura gives Keith the stink eye; probably making mental notes about his attitude to be discussed later at length with Shiro after the interview. For his part, Shiro thinks it’s hilarious. Allura is a very serious sort of person when she’s at work: the definition of professionalism, grace, and dignity. While Keith is at all times her polar opposite: bland, sarcastic, and casual. But wile leaving these two to play out this farce of an interview might be hilarious, he thinks he’d better actually get them on track.

“Alright, let’s get to it,” says Shiro, because yes, he’s in charge here, “Keith, why do you want to train dolphins?”

“I don’t,” Keith says simply, “but I want to be in a position to advocate for them and against marine mammal captivity. To do that, I need to understand what’s really going on here. Lance said I don’t get to have a say in this fight unless I’m actually in it. So here I am.”

“So, you’re here because you want to free our exhibits, is that it?” Allura asks dryly.

A smarter person, or perhaps a less truthful one, would rephrase. At the very least come up with something diplomatic to say. Not Keith. Not ever. “Basically.”

“I’m afraid that’s not a very good endorsement of your application,” Allura says flatly unimpressed, “Altea Bay Aquarium is all about taking care of the animals under our watch. And I will not have anyone impugning my motives or those of my colleagues. I love the animals I care for, and there’s a lot of reasons why…”

Keith cuts her off without raising his voice. “Would you rather I lied?”

Allura stares at him. “What?”

“You asked a question and I answered it. And frankly I don’t give a shit about what you or any other human thinks about keeping marine mammals cooped up in here. It’s wrong. But I think it’s the system that’s wrong, not the people. I’ve never met anyone kinder or more genuinely loving than my older brother,” here he looks at Shiro with staunch conviction, “but not everyone is like you and Shiro. If I need to be on the inside to help you guys fix things, then that’s where I’m going to be.”

And Shiro has never been prouder of Keith in his life. A big smile blossoms over his face. Shiro’s taking the job at the aquarium put a rift between them. One that at one point, Shiro thought they might not be able to bridge again. But maybe, _maybe_ , Shiro get’s his brother back today.

Shiro tries not to tear up. Keith and Allura don’t need to see just how happy and hopeful and emotional he really is. So he pushes all that stuff way down into the bottom of his too big heart, and smiles so that his cheeks almost hurt. “I think you’d be a good fit here.”

Keith gives him a little smile, which is really just as good as a hug. “I know you do.” Because Keith, the little asshole, probably can hear his thoughts.

It’s Allura that brings them back on track. “I’m looking through your resume Keith,” she says, ignoring their moment, “there’s not a whole lot here that pertains to dolphin training or animal care in general. If Lance hadn’t been complaining about you and your marine life trivia knowledge for a week, I’d say you didn’t know anything about training dolphins.”

“Well, officially, there’s not a lot I can say on the matter,” says Keith.

“Well, then officially, this,” Allura hefts the papers, “isn’t very impressive. You worked at a gas station in college and you sell paintings on the beach. That’s all that’s on here.”

“That’s funny, there should be a four-year degree from Marmora Community College on there some place,” says Keith.

“I’m not joking,” Allura insists. She turns to face Shiro, “I know Lance put him at the top of the swim test list, but I just don’t see how any of this makes him a good person to hire. As a custodian sure, or even a receptionist at the front desk with Shay, but a dolphin trainer? I thought you told Zarkon you needed a ‘mini me’.”

“He’s more qualified than you know,” says Shiro.

“Because he can talk to dolphins?” Allura demands blankly. “I’m sorry Keith, but I’m just…what makes you right for this position?”

“You’re having problems with Red, right?” Keith asks rhetorically. When Allura nods, he continues, “I can have her up to speed with the others in one week. Sooner if she’s cooperative.”

Allura looks at Shiro for a second. “How?”

Keith goes to answer, but Shiro cuts him off, “he just can, Lurra. You’re going to have to trust me on this one.”

Allura shakes her head in obvious confusion. “Shiro, I know he’s your brother, but…he’s not even _close_ to any of the other applicants. You can’t hire on a promise. You can’t hire on blood.”

“I’m not,” Shiro insists, “but…look it’s complicated…I…we can’t explain everything. You…”

“Yes we can,” says Keith standing up, “I can explain everything right here, right now. It really isn’t that complicated at all.”

“Kit, what are you doing?” Shiro has a sinking feeling he knows exactly what Keith is up to. It’s not so much that he doesn’t approve of what his brother has up his sleeve so much as he want’s Keith to be a thousand percent certain before he does it.

For his part, Keith looks resolute. “Allura won’t go along with this if she doesn’t know the whole story. It wouldn’t be fair of us to ask if of her either.”

“Are you sure? Like, one-hundred percent sure?” Shiro asks.

“I am. I trust Allura.”

“You trust me? What’s going on here, Shiro? What _is_ this?” Allura is now up out of her seat, her perfect eyebrows drawn together with suspicion.

Keith nods and Shiro stands up beside Allura, holding her elbows as he looks down into her eyes. “You won’t believe me if I tell you. So Keith is just going to have to show you.”

“Show me what?” Allura asks. Her face is still hard as she side-eyes Keith.

Shiro sighs, resigned to whatever is going to happen next. “Keith _is_ a mermaid. And you should probably turn your back for this part.”

And so this is how Shiro finds himself covering the eyes of his should-be girlfriend while his younger brother strips off his pants in the middle of the office. _And you thought your day was weird_. No matter how many times he sees it happen, Shiro will never get used to watching Keith morph into his mermaid shape. It’s kind of hard to watch, but then at the same time it’s impossible to turn away.

First the bright red scales unfold down Keith’s bare legs, then a new layer of skin stretches over them. Shiro doesn’t know what goes on under the scales biologically, and Keith refuses to let Peggy X-ray him, but he imagines it can’t be comfortable. Eventually, Keith has to sit down on the desk because standing just isn’t an option anymore. Once he’s mostly transformed and his upper thighs are completely mermaid again, he looks up at Shiro and Allura.

“You can uncover your eyes. I’m…” his face goes red, “as decent as I can be.”

Allura grabs Shiro’s wrist and slowly lifts his hand up off her eyes. Keith’s fins are just midway out, still in the process of lengthening, gracefully arching down toward the floor. She gasps as she takes a step away from Shiro. “Is this…this is for real? No bullshit?”

“No bullshit,” Shiro confirms with a smile.

“Can I…” Allura pulls her hand back and looks at Keith as though he’s some sort of wild animal she’s asking permission to pet. It’s funny, Shiro thinks, and so totally Allura it’s cute in a way it wouldn’t be if she were someone else. “May I?”

Keith, rolls his eyes. “Go for it. I’m sitting in the middle of Shiro’s desk with a bigass mermaid tail, it’s not like today can get any stranger.”

Allura laughs at that. “I guess not.”

She puts a tentative hand on Keith’s lap, just above where his knees would have been. She’s gentle at first, like she doesn’t want to disturb the scales, and Shiro’s grateful for that. She can’t hide her fascination, can’t hide the fact that she’s looking for some part of Keith’s mermaid make up to be fake, and it’s amusing. There’s a scientist in her that just won’t be ignored. Which is something Keith has been terrified of his whole life.

Shiro feels a little protective of his brother right now, but far less protective than he is proud. Letting people in on the secret is still a huge deal. Not even everyone in the Luxite Trailer Park has _actually seen_ Keith in his mermaid form. So for him to let Allura in on the secret? Well it’s astounding. And it shows Shiro how much Keith really does still trust him. Trusts him in a way Shiro was starting to fear had been irrevocably altered.

It’s a weird day. But it’s a good day.

Finally, Allura looks up from examining Keith’s tail. Her eyes are bright and her smile is almost giddy. “I think Lance is out a hundred bucks.”

Shiro sighs. “I warned him.”

Keith laughs. “So about me training dolphins?”

* * *

**[Today, 7: 37]**

**notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** don’t make me start this party without you

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** I’m not even late yet

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** If you’re not early then u r late

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Umm no

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** Don’t contradict me you motherfucking peasant

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Is it just going to be you and me watching it?

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** YuP. I live with two morons who think watching the mainstream news means they’re informed

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Fuck CNN

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** And the New York Times

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** And NBC

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** Fuck them all! Propaganda, man, they’re controlling the narrative

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Amen

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Wait, I’ll bring you a soap box

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** Just bring me popcorn and get your clumsy ass over here in one piece

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** On my way

It’s Saturday evening and Keith is wondering if he might have gone a little overboard with the popcorn. There’s five bags of various flavored kettle corn in his passenger seat, but it’s a little late to be feeling buyer’s remorse.

Keith heaves a sigh and takes his keys out of the ignition. He leans over and grabs the grocery bags, taking them with him as he steps out onto Pidge’s driveway. Well, Pidge, Hunk, and _Lance’s_ driveway. He really isn’t sure what to make of this situation. Technically, he’s only here to see Pidge because they’re going to watch Adam West’s new Mothman documentary. But since Lance lives here too, there’s a good chance Keith will run into him as well.

Which should be a good thing, except he and Lance don’t seem to be on speaking terms right now. Keith isn’t an idiot. He can tell when someone is avoiding him; and Lance has been avoiding him like he’s got some alien disease or something. He hasn’t answered any of Keith’s texts since the boardwalk—Keith finally gave up trying on Thursday—and he was being weird at the swim test. His thoughts, what Keith could hear without really trying to focus, were antagonistic. Maybe even hostile.

All of which is to say, Keith doesn’t know whether he wants to see Lance today or not. Part of him hopes Lance isn’t home. Part of him hopes he is. Because Keith is a straightforward sort of guy who doesn’t like playing Ring-Around-The-Rosy with some idiot. He’d rather confront the issue, fight it out if necessary, and have done with it. But Lance it would seem likes to take the pussy approach, that is, not dealing with it at all and pretending nothing is happening. Keith doesn’t understand those types of people.

He takes a breath before knocking on the door. Pidge flings it open almost immediately. Her mousy hair is crazy, a hive of pins and hairclips, and her tee-shirt reaches all the way to her knees. She’s got huge socks on, clearly bigger than her little feet, and she’s wearing a pair of baggy basketball shorts that make her legs look downright skinny.

“Trip!” she cries, “did you bring me my kettle corn?”

Keith gives her a little smile. “What’s up Tater-tot?”

He hands her the grocery bags as she steps aside to let him in. Pidge’s nose practically divebombs the bags in her hands as she inspects the loot he picked up from Publix on the way over. She nods approvingly. “You have done well, my Padawan,” she says in all seriousness.

Keith snorts at that. “OK.”

Pidge roles her eyes. “I’ve got some drinks for us in the refrigerator.”

Keith feels one eyebrow go up of it’s own accord. “And by drinks you mean…?”

“The kind I’m not supposed to have, yes. Big brothers have to be good for something.”

“Wouldn’t know. Mine is a total square.”

Pidge sighs. “Alas, sad but true. Unfortunately, Shiro refuses to be house broken.”

Keith laughs at that. A real genuine laugh. “Please…please don’t say that ever again.”

Pidge adjusts her glasses sagely. “What are you implying?”

“Mothman?” he says instead of answering.

“Right.”

Pidge leads Keith through the small but tastefully decorated Livingroom into a small but tasteful kitchen. The appliances are old, almost vintage, but they’re clean and functional. There’s a little gas stove, and a little oven: a little pink toaster, a glass cabinet full of dry ingredients, and a candy jar. There’s an aquamarine Kitchenaid and an aquamarine microwave. And a grease stained poster of Rosie the Riveter.

Hunk is standing at the counter eating what Keith presumes is his dinner straight out of the pot. Which Keith does himself a lot, no need to waste water on cleaning extra dishes after all, but he expected…something else from the man who’s cooking Allura spent an entire drive praising. Well, ‘the cooks eat in the kitchen’ as Peggy always says.

‘Hey man,” says Hunk around a mouthful of pasta salad, “come to encourage Pidge and her conspiracy theories?”

“The way I see it, Pidge is encouraging _me_ ,” says Keith.

Hunk grins. “Always got an answer don’t you.”

Keith shrugs. “Most of the time I know what people are going to say before they say it. Gives me an extra couple seconds to work out a comeback.”

“Now _that_ is a conspiracy,” says Pidge pulling her head and a few beers out of the refrigerator. She hands one to Keith who takes it with a grateful nod.

Hunk just laughs. “So Keith, you had your interview with Shiro and Allura yesterday, right? How’d it go?”

“I got the job,” says Keith, “so I guess it went OK. Shiro hired two of us actually. So we’ll see how things go. Allura seems to think he’s going to be in hot water with Zarkon.”

Pidge winces. “Yep. We might need to start planning his funeral. But that’s great you got the job.”

“Yeah, congrats man,” says Hunk, “guess we’ll be seeing you on Monday then.”

“Guess so,” says Keith.

He pops the cap off his beer before Pidge can hand him the bottle opener. Superhuman mermaid strength comes in handy sometimes. Except when it doesn’t. Pidge gives him a look. She didn’t miss anything. Not that Keith is subtle about his… _less than human_ traits, but it isn’t often that someone catches on. Or rather, it isn’t often that someone takes him seriously. But Pidge though, Pidge just might. Keith will have to consider being a little more careful around her.

He decides to change the subject, and turns back to Hunk. “So I take it you’re sitting out on our documentary?” Keith says.

Hunk nods as he swallows. “Yep. Cryptids and aliens aren’t really my thing. And I’ll thank you two not to rock my boat.”

Keith and Pidge exchange a look. “I’m afraid your boat was rocked the moment you met me,” she says.

“What about Lance?” Keith asks. He keeps his voice carefully disinterested and takes another sip of beer for good measure, “is he gonna join us?”

Hunk and Pidge exchange a look. One that speaks volumes to Keith. Mostly because he can hear their thoughts. Lance is hiding from him upstairs and asked his friends to cover for him. And that hurts. More than Keith would like to admit. Mostly because he just doesn’t _let_ himself be hurt. Not usually. But then, Lance has been the exception to all of Keith’s rules since the beginning.

It’s times like this when Keith wishes he was human. Wishes he didn’t accidently pick up on the thoughts people around him project. Because even though Keith is a Red Pill kind of guy, sometimes even he has to admit, ignorance is bliss. It’s not like he’s actively _trying_ to eavesdrop on their private thoughts, but it’s not a muscle that ever fully shuts off. It’s like breathing for him. His brain is just constantly picking up neuro chatter even when he doesn’t focus on it. It’s like always being tuned in to a specific radio wavelength or like people are constantly butt-dialling his brain.

“Lance is at his mom’s house helping out with his nieces,” Hunk says.

Pidge looks like she wishes Hunk hadn’t just said that. If Keith didn’t know better, he’d say _she_ knows that _he_ knows it’s a lie. “Lance isn’t in to conspiracies either,” she says.

Keith remains cool and dismissive. He shrugs. “His loss.”

“It’s going to be our loss in three minutes if we don’t get the TV turned on,” says Pidge grabbing her extra beer.

“Have fun,” says Hunk.

Keith smiles as the big guy leans his back against the kitchen counter again and raises the pasta pot to his face. “Hunk if you want some fancy kettle corn later, you should join us.”

“I’ll think about that,” Hunk promises. And Keith and pidge head into the Livingroom.

Pidge turns the TV on, and to annoy her roommates, turns the volume up just a tad too loud. They settle on the couch side by side with a massive pillow that reads ‘Sleepless in Seattle’ between them. As it turns out, Pidge is a lot of fun to watch TV with. She throws popcorn at the TV when one of the Cryptid hunters does something particularly stupid. And extra popcorn when people on the screen poo-poo Dr. West. She also has great commentary on commercials, and she isn’t shy about calling bullshit on the news casters.

Keith tries to focus on Pidge and the documentary. It’s not easy though. Lance seems to have invaded his mind at every inopportune moment and, despite the new tension between them, he can’t help but wish Lance would come downstairs and join their fun. He doesn’t. They make it all the way through the documentary without seeing hide nor tail of either Hunk or Lance. Which is just fine with Keith. Because he _doesn’t_ want to see Lance after all.

It’s thirty minutes to eleven O’clock when Pidge suggests they put on _Specter_ , and as a 007 fan, Keith can’t say no. Pidge keeps up her endless stream of comments, which predictably, has been redirected to pointing out all the ways James Bond defies the laws of physics. Hunk joins them about fifteen minutes into the movie, dropping himself onto the couch on the other side of Keith. There’s still two bags of popcorn that haven’t been opened, and Hunk takes one to himself.

They end up putting on _Moana_ after that, but by then it’s 1:15 in the morning, and Hunk and Pidge are fading. By the part where Moana follows Maui up the cliff, Hunk is passed out on the couch and Pidge isn’t far behind. By the end, Keith has been sitting up by himself, ignoring the movie and idly browsing Facebook for a half hour. When the credits start rolling, he turns off the TV, grabs his jacket and shoes, and heads for the door. His hand reaches the doorknob before he thinks better of sneaking out on them.

As softly as he can, Keith makes his way back to the kitchen. Grabbing a pen and paper from the counter beside the landline, he writes a quick note:

_Hunk & Pidge, _

_Thanks for having me over to watch TV with you. You guys were both asleep and I didn’t want to wake you, so I let myself out. See you guys on Monday,_

_Keith_

Then, because Keith is a passive aggressive little shit and he doesn’t actually think things through past midnight, he adds a PS.

  1. _Lance, hope you had lots of fun taking care of your nieces <3 _



Keith leaves the note stuck to the refrigerator with a magnet and lets himself out. Monday is going to be interesting.

* * *

Find the artist: [Tumblur](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ashenangel2) [DeviantArt](https://www.deviantart.com/ashenangel2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Guys, 
> 
> Thank you all for reading this story and for all your support in the comments. You're all such a blessing. To celebrate finally finishing chapter four, which has been hell to write, we're going to try something new. In the spirit of klance's (usually idiotic) competitiveness, I have a possibly very bad idea to propose to you all. Hopefully it'll be a lot of fun, so let's get to it: 
> 
> For a chance to win a cameo in chapter 5, guess the flavor's of either Lance's or Keith's soda from the Pop Shop scene. The first person to get one or two right answers will win a cameo. Everyone gets two guesses that count, use them any way you want. Hint: do some detective work on the illustrations. It might be easier to zoom in on the image at it's original location on DiviantArt (link above). If you guess correct, I'll reply to your comment and we'll find a way to get in touch. 
> 
> Cameo's may either be of an OC you designed or a novelized character of you yourself. Hopefully this isn't a horrible idea and it turns out to be kind of fun. Thanks again you beautiful people, and as always, keep being awesome, 
> 
> Ghostwriter_Red


	5. Welcome to the Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snapshots from Keith's first week working at the Altea Bay Aquarium. There's a little drama, a little goofing off, and a whole lot of sexual tension. But that tends to happen when your crew is made up of a bunch of idiots.

It’s Monday.

It’s also only seven AM, and Shiro is already bouncing off the walls. He’s excited. Like a kid on Christmas morning. Because his little brother is going to be working with him. It’ll be the two of them again, just like when they were kids.

Allura is happy for him. She isn’t even complaining about having to get up an hour early with him—Allura is not a morning person—because she knows how much today means for him. Allura is supportive like that. Wholly unselfish when it comes to him. Shiro doesn’t know what he did to deserve a friend like her, but he doesn’t question it. Allura is a magical princess and he’s a dashing young soldier boy. That’s all there is to it.

They stop at the Starbucks drive-thru. Allura is dozing off in the passenger seat, but that’s OK, Shiro has her morning order memorized. It’s different than the sugary ice-tea she drinks in the afternoon. It’s an Allura thing.

Shiro pulls up to order. “One Grande black tea with cream and two pumps of syrup, hot. And one Grande latte, please.”

“Anything else?” a woman’s voice asks.

“No thanks, that’s it.”

“Alrighty then. Second window please.”

Shiro pays for their drinks and sets them in the cupholder. He drives the rest of the way to the aquarium in silence so Allura can catch a few more minutes of sleep. When they finally pull into the parking lot, he shakes her awake gently. She blinks up at him as he puts her tea in her hand and opens the Jeep door. When he steps out onto the pavement, Shiro inhales the morning air through his nose. The sky is pale pink, backlit by an orange sun on one side, and on the other there’s a dusky blueish violet with lazy morning clouds. As far as Florida mornings go, this one is a little crisp. The air is still cool, a little damp, with cold morning dew. Today is going to be a good day, he can feel it.

Allura is still a bit groggy as Shiro drags her back to the dolphin HQ hut and his office. The hut is empty and silent, it’s like the whole aquarium is still asleep except for them. They don’t speak. Shiro punches in his time and goes through the motions of getting ready for the day. Meanwhile Allura drops herself into the more comfortable chair behind his desk. She takes slow sips of her tea as she tries to rub away her morning eyes. It’s funny to see her like this, so different from the bull-headed, put together veterinarian she usually is.

“Keith and Ezor are coming in with the morning crew today,” Shiro says quietly once he thinks Allura’s had enough tea to be able to focus.

“Cool.” She always gives short responses before 8:30 AM. She’s like Pidge that way.

“I’m sorry you had to come early with me. You can lay down on the couch in the breakroom if you want.”

Allura shakes her head. “Best I’d get is fifteen minutes at this point. S’not worth it.”

Silence falls again for a few minutes before they hear the creaking of the HQ door. A moment later, Pidge’s irritated and very groggy voice says, “fuck mornings. Shiro!” she calls more loudly, “why the fuck did you do this to me?”

“Because he’s navy, that’s why. Shape up or ship out.” That’s Keith’s voice, just loud enough for Shiro’s benefit.

“I don’t see what you two are complaining about,” says Ezor, “we get to play with dolphins!”

Pidge let’s out a primal groan. “Oh honey, you have _no idea_ about the torture that’s about to be inflicted on you.”

Ezor scoffs but seems otherwise determined not to be put off by Pidge’s sour mood. “I’m new here. I’m allowed to be excited.”

“Great. Go be excited over there,” says Keith through a yawn.

Shiro chuckles at them all as he rounds the corner out of his office and into the breakroom. Ezor is shoving things into her locker. Pidge is slumped over the armrest of the couch and Keith is chugging the rest of his coffee.

“Morning guys,” Shiro says cheerfully.

“No,” says Pidge.

Keith pulls the collar of his shirt up over his nose and yawns into it. “It’s too early for you to be this happy.”

Pidge aimlessly tries to slap at Keith’s leg without looking. “Stop yawing Trip, it’s contagious.”

Ezor looks at Shiro with bright alert eyes. “I take it this is the Zombie shift.”

Shiro chuckles. “Apparently,” then turning his attention to the problem children he adds, “alright you two, I’m not paying you to lounge around here. Up and at em.” Pidge groans again but doesn’t move. Shiro grabs her by the back of her shirt and hauls her to her feet. “Up, up, up, you’re burning daylight.”

“And you’re burning the bridge to enlightenment, but do I tell you how to run your life?” says Keith. Shiro rolls his eyes. Even in the mornings Keith is too quick witted for his own good.

Of course his brother’s morning mood does nothing to dampen Shiro’s own excitement that they get to work together today. He herds them all out of the HQ hut like a border collie and gets to work showing Keith and Ezor the ropes for opening the outdoor aquarium exhibits. Pidge is no help whatsoever.

Shiro is just in the process of showing Keith and Ezor how to prep the coolers for the kitchen when his phone vibrates. Pulling it out for a quick look, he sees a text message from his boss. And that’s the downside of today he was dreading.

**[Today, 7:53 AM]**

**Emperor_Zarkon:** What just hit my desk this morning? I thought I gave you the budget to hire ONE person

 **That*BIONIC*man:** I have a feeling this is something that we’ll need to discus in person

 **Emperor_Zarkon:** Yes I think so to

 **Emperor_Zarkon:** My office in five

“Good news?” Keith asks looking up from the ice chest.

Shiro sighs. “I gotta go deal with something. Finish up here and Pidge will show you guys how to get to the kitchen.”

Keith makes a face. He doesn’t say a thing out loud—his lips never move—but Shiro can hear him in his mind. _‘Good luck with Zarkon.’_

 _‘Thanks,_ ’ Shiro thinks back, ‘ _this might be entertaining_.’

‘ _Don’t worry about me and Ezor, I’m ninety percent sure I know how to open_ ,’ Keith tells him telepathically.

Shiro smiles. ‘ _Oh, yeah? And how do you know that_?’

_‘Do you really need me to answer that?’_

No he doesn’t. Shiro knows _exactly_ how Keith knows. Joking aside, Keith really can hear him thinking about the opening procedures, so he probably _does_ know. And that’s why Shiro wanted him in the first place. Keith doesn’t need someone to hold his hand. Keith can figure shit out _. ‘OK, get this place open then,’_ he thinks directly enough for Keith to know he’s being spoken to. Then aloud he says for Ezor’s benefit. “Good work you two. See you in a bit.”

He walks off towards the aquarium proper to meet with his boss.

Shiro knows Zarkon is about to chew him out for exceeding his budget; he got the go ahead to hire one new trainer and what did he do? Shiro hired _two_. That’s going to mess things up a bit. But Shiro can’t bring himself to care. He’ll take a pay cut himself if he has to, but he’s keeping Ezor and Keith. The aquarium _needs_ them.

Which is really what everything always comes down to in the end; Shiro puts everything into his team and the aquarium so they can do the most good for the animals in their care. The team needs Ezor to replace Nyma so that the working environment smooths out. And the animals need someone to care for them as much as Keith does. So with that much settled in his head, Shiro can deal with his grouchy boss. He can deal with the lectures and shit. He can take it all because he has to. He has to keep the aquarium alive for the animals. For Allura. For Alfor. For every individual member of his team. Because they all deserve the best.

With a breath, Shiro gets a grip on his nerves. He steals himself against whatever storm Zarkon can whip up and opens the office door.

“Ah Teakashi,” says Zarkon, “won’t you sit down? I have a feeling this could take a while.” He looks displeased. Which is really nothing new—Zarkon always looks displeased—but what _is_ new is that he isn’t bothering to cover it up.

Shiro takes his usual seat opposite his boss and forces himself to remain cool and collected. As usual, he isn’t sorry. “I take it you’re not impressed,” he says evenly.

Zarkon cuts right to the chase. “I gave you permission and the budget to hire one new trainee. You hired two. Care to explain what your plan is for this extra expenditure?”

“I needed someone to help me with administration and someone to split the extra hours I spend with Allura in the clinic. I can’t keep working for free,” Shiro eyes his boss sternly to let Zarkon know he means business. “That’s why I hired Keith. To be my mini-me. Lance is doing fine. He’ll be able to run the dolphin shows pretty soon, but with his short attention span and his dyslexia, I’m not about to put the kid behind a desk.”

“You’ve already told me this. That’s why I gave you the budget to hire someone,” Zarkon says impatiently, “what I want to know is why you hired this…” he picks up some papers on his desk and scans them with quick beady eyes, “this Ezor Brown girl.”

Shiro takes a deep breath. Because this one is a little harder to explain. Hiring Keith was a no brainer. But hiring Ezor? That was a last-minute decision he made at three O’clock in the morning while he was brainstorming how to make working at the aquarium easier for Lance and some of the others. Shiro will forever maintain that he makes his best decisions when he’s _supposed_ to be sleeping. He’s convinced of his own brilliance. Now he just needs to convince his boss.

“I hired Ezor because I’m having some personnel problems. There’s an individual on my team who has been nothing but trouble for the last two years. The only reason I haven’t fired her already is because there would be this overlap. Either I keep this individual while we train someone new, or we cut down on the number of shows again,” says Shiro.

Zarkon takes a moment to process this information. “Why haven’t you fired this person and just brought in someone new who’s already up to speed?”

“Because if we want someone with her training, we’d need to offer the replacement more money. We’d need to compete with Sea World on the salary.” And Shiro _knows_ he’s struck a chord. Zarkon will let him keep both Ezor and Keith if he can just say the right things.

“I see,” says Zarkon leaning back in his seat, planting his elbows on the little armrests, and steepling his fingers. “And this Ezor character…?”

“Is a trainee. And as such, she’ll be cheaper than the person I brought her in to replace. We’ll get her up to speed as fast as we can and fire the problem employee,” Shiro explains.

“I see. It’s not completely wrong thinking Takashi,” Zarkon says slowly.

Shiro keeps going. “Short term, the personnel costs will go up a bit. I’ll split the budget and time between Ezor and Keith to minimize any additional expenditures. But in the end, you won’t be paying out anything more than you planned. In fact, until Ezor is moved up completely, the personnel costs for my team will go down by seven-and-a-half percent. Over three months after we get rid of the problem person, you’ll save back any extra money you spent.”

And Zarkon…still looks displeased. But at least now he looks thoughtful as well. “Send me your cost analysis and I’ll run it by accounting to double check your math. And I want it by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Yes sir,” says Shiro. He’s won. He _knows_ he’s won. Pretty soon he can fire Nyma and maybe for the first time in two years, he’ll finally have the well-oiled team he’s always wanted. Things are looking up.

Zarkon rubs a tired hand across his forehead. “I understand your logic Takashi,” he says, “but why didn’t you propose this to me _before_ you went and did it?”

 _‘Because it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission’_ Shiro thinks to himself. Then says aloud, “I apologize sir. I came up with the idea at three in the morning, stayed up all night doing the calculations, and just sort of made the offer to Ezor on the spot. I wasn’t thinking as clearly as perhaps I should have been.”

Zarkon snorts at that. “You’re a bit like Alfor,” he says wryly. “Impulsive.” And this might be the first time Shiro’s ever seen anything resembling a genuine human emotion on his boss’s face. “OK, if accounting can confirm your calculations, you have permission to keep Ezor Brown.”

“Thank you sir.”

“That’s all for today,” Zarkon says dismissively and Shiro takes that as his cue to stand up, ”but…” Shiro pauses, “next time you have some brilliant idea at three in the morning, you will inform me first. _Before_ you make any impulsive gambles. Am I understood?”

Shiro smiles a big genuine smile. Because he _won_. “Yes sir.”

“Good.”

Shiro exits the office, almost more giddy than when he came into work today. His plans are shaping up. For the first time in a while, he feels like he might actually be getting the dolphin program under control.

He hasn’t exactly _told_ Nyma she’s being replaced; that’s going to be a secret between him and Zarkon for the time being. Because telling her would be a _disaster_. She’d take it out on Ezor and Shiro won’t put up with that. He’s already afraid Nyma will be a problem for Ezor—she’ll be a problem for Keith too once she realizes he isn’t interested in her—but Shiro isn’t going to make things worse for either of them by telling Nyma she’s being replaced.

Are his plans a little sneaky? Yeah, maybe. Sure. But one thing people keep forgetting around here is that Shiro was a Lieutenant in the United States Navy. They’re under the erroneous misconception that he’s as simple, kind, and straightforward as he puts on to be. And sure, sometimes he is. But they forget, or don’t know, how subtly and crafty he can be. He fought pirates off the coast of Benin, for crying out loud. He knows how people work. He isn’t being manipulative so much as he’s executing a strategy. Shiro isn’t cruel, he’s smart. Really smart. And he has that rare gift of being both wise _and_ intelligent.

To be fair though, Shiro has warned Nyma on multiple occasions that if she doesn’t shape up, he’s going to give her the boot. But she never takes him seriously. She seems to be under the mistaken assumption that he _needs_ her. Which may have been true once, but it isn’t anymore. Now Shiro has learned to rely on Lance as a sort of second in command, and that’s been working out pretty well so far. And now that Shiro has Keith, his team is complete. Nyma isn’t needed. And she’s messed with Lance’s heart a few too many times for Shiro to tolerate. Maybe he can’t stop them from seeing each other at all, but he _can_ stop them from seeing each other at work. Shiro is nothing if not protective.

As Colonel Antock would say, “if you mess with the bull, you get the horns.”

And Nyma has been messing with a bull that’s just run out of patience.

In other words, you do not mess with Shiro’s family and get away with it. He might strenuously insist that he isn’t the ‘Dolphin Dad’ Pidge likes to say he is, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel protective of the kids. Shiro has been provoked. And today, he knows what to do about it.

Step one, put Lance in charge of training Ezor and Keith. Step two, get Keith working with Allura in the clinic. Step three, have Ezor replace Nyma. Step four, fire Nyma. Step five, start going home at a decent hour.

* * *

It’s Tuesday.

Nyma Rossi checks her makeup in the mirror taped to the inside of her locker. Her cheeks are painted rosy pink, her lips are painted cherry red, and her face is painted an even shade to cover acne scars from high school. She hasn’t worn makeup to work in a while. Wearing a full face of makeup when you’re working around water and animals all day is actually _very_ pointless. Even Nyma has to admit that. But she hasn’t met the new kids yet, and she want’s them to see her best face first.

So yeah, make-up today.

Thing is, last night, Rolo admitted Ezor is pretty. Which means Nyma can’t just go out there today unprepared. First, she has to see Ezor for herself, rank them both in her mental hierarchy of female staff, then decide how to proceed. Not that this is a completely conscious thought. The other thing is, Shiro hired his little brother who is—by everyone’s account—an oddly wild beauty in his own right. He’s also an asshole. Which means she needs to look something smokin’ if she wants to string him into the boyfriend lineup behind Lance and Rolo. This thought is a little more conscious than the other.

Nyma checks the clock on her phone. 9:00 AM sharp. Time to get to work. She punches in on the clock, readjusts her wetsuit, grabs her lanyard, and heads out to the dolphin pool.

Rolo is already there with Allura taking quick blood samples from the dolphins. Pidge and Hunk are crouched at the far side of the pool trying to patch up the water filter again. So far, everything seems to be in its place. Until she scans the opposite deck and finds a face she doesn’t recognize. Out in front of the utility hut, hosing down the toys, is a serious looking boy in a black and purple wetsuit. _‘Must be Shiro’s younger brother.’_

Headless of her current boyfriend working diligently a few feet away, Nyma unzips the front of her wet suit; not enough to be obvious but just enough to show a little somethin’ something. She takes the footbridge over the canal and plants herself in front of the new guy.

“Hey,” she says with a smile, “I’m Nyma.” She holds out her hand for him to shake.

The guy looks up at her with sharp all-knowing eyes. “Keith,” he says. He shakes her hand.

And fuck if the rumors hadn’t been right about him. He’s not the tall and lean type she generally goes for, in fact, he probably isn’t any taller than Allura. And he doesn’t have the nice golden-brown suntan that she likes about Lance and Rolo. But he’s uniquely attractive in his own way; a kind of fairytale flawless that’s a little unnerving. Wild and inscrutable.

She softens her smile so as to appear more genuine. “It’s nice to finally have some new people on the team. We can really use the extra hands around here.”

“I’ve been told,” says Keith.

 _‘OK then.’_ “Is it true that Shiro’s your brother?”

“Yep.”

 _‘Great. One-word answers.’_ “ Shiro’s pretty cool. Does a lot for this place.”

Keith gives her a look like he’s trying to read her mind or something. The unnerving thing about it, is she thinks he actually might be able too. Either that, or his eyes are just too cutting and intelligent for their own good.

“Yeah,” he says at last.

Nyma smiles as she flounders for another angle of conversation. “So, when did you decide you wanted to be a dolphin trainer? This a lifelong dream come true for you?”

“Nope. I’m just here to set the exhibits loose,” is the short deadpan reply.

Nyma laughs uncomfortably, unsure of whether or not that was a joke. So far, she doesn’t like Keith. But, if she wants to make him a potential back-up plan for Rolo—or to make him another link in the chain she’s wrapped around Lance’s neck--she’s gonna have to be sweet to him. “I don’t think you’re allowed to set our dolphins free, that’s against…”

“Hey Nyma.” A familiar voice interrupts her from behind. “You ready, Mullet?”

Lance is suddenly standing beside her left shoulder looking both put upon and exasperated. His perfectly defined eyebrows are drawn together and his lower lip juts out in a little frown. Nyma finds many faults with Lance, but his appearance has never been one of them. His close-cropped curly hair wavers a little in the sea breeze as the sun kisses his golden cheeks just so. Lance is an Adonis. Which is why Nyma isn’t ready to let go of him just yet; multiple breakups notwithstanding, she thinks they could end up together if something better doesn’t come along.

“Hey, Lance,” Nyma says brightly.

Keith gives Lance a look that’s somehow relieved and irritated at the same time. “You get here by way of Australia or something?”

Lance folds his arms over his chest, face turning a little red with indignation. “I don’t need your sass, Keith.”

“Did you say you don’t need my ‘sass’ or you don’t need my ‘sex’?” Keith holds eye contact with him, face blank and deadly serious. The way in which Lance’s mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water as he searches his over loaded brain for an appropriate response is hilarious. There isn’t one of course. Especially since it’s so obvious Keith is messing with him.

Predictably, Lance changes the subject. He lifts his chin a little higher and goes for an air of authority that Nyma has only seen a few times since she met him. “We’re working with Red today. I’m supposed to be teaching you how to train the dolphins, not how to troll the help…”

Keith snorts. “That’s what she said.”

“Don’t interrupt,” Lance says shortly, “and I have a show at eleven, so let’s get a move on. And put your hair up.”

Nyma smiles between the two boys, reasserting her presence after feeling forgotten in the middle of their bickering. “Training a new dolphin already?” she says, “Shiro’s throwing you in at the deep end, Keith.”

“I like the deep end. Shallow things bug me,” says Keith coolly.

_And was that a burn directed at her? Rude._

Lance cuts the rising tension between Nyma and Keith with what is quite nearly another of his infamous foot in mouth moments. “Gotta throw this asshole in at the deep end. It’s the only way to knock him down a peg.”

“Well, at least I’ve got everyone’s attention,” says Keith brushing the dig aside into the conversational dust.

Lance ignores the self-elevating joke and makes a move to bring them back on track. “Red’s waiting. And for the last time, put your hair up. Hair long enough to go in a ponytail goes in a ponytail. Those are the rules after opening.”

Lance folds his arms over his chest. Commanding and confident. He takes full advantage of the extra inches he has over Keith as he tilts his head down just slightly to underscore his authority. Initially, Nyma herself had resented Lance when Shiro put him in charge of training the new kids, but hot damn, even she has to admit that a little righteous authority looks good on him. He wears it like a velvet glove. He looks so different now from the goofball who gets bored and plays pranks on his friends. Serious is a good look on him, one she’s been trying to push on him for years. For a while now, Shiro has been setting Lance up to start managing the dolphin crew. And it seems he’s finally getting the hang of the whole ‘right hand of Voltron’ thing.

Perhaps Keith and his wiseass disrespectful ways is forcing the issue. Lance doesn’t mind being treated like a goofball—he _is_ a goofball—but there’s something about Keith and his arrogant personality that seems to make Lance want to prove himself.

Admittedly, all of these observations might be Nyma reading into the situation a little bit too much. It’s what she does best after all. Nyma over analyzes the shit out of things till they make sense. Or they drive her crazy. Whichever happens first.

For his part, Keith looks just as affected by Lance’s presence as she is. If the slight dusting of pink over his alabaster cheeks is anything to go off of. Which is when she finally puts two and two together. Keith is never going to fall into line behind Rolo and the others. He is never going to play her games. He just isn’t interested in her. Never will be. Because Keith has a thing for _Lance_.

And that makes him c _ompetition_.

Oblivious to Nyma’s internal descent into the second circle of hell with all the other jealous and lustful souls, Lance presses on. “Well?”

Keith sighs and sets the pile of target poles down by his feet. “I don’t like swimming with my hair up. It gets tangled and it’s hard to take down again.”

“Well, that’s not really my problem, now is it?” says Lance. “The rules are the rules for a reason. If we’re gonna get in the pool and work with the dolphins, you can’t have your vison impaired with all that mullet.”

Keith frowns. “It’s not a mullet.”

And Nyma, now that she has no further use for Keith, finds herself feeling a little vindictive. She gives the guy another smile. “You could just cut it all off you know, if wearing it up bothers you so much. I mean, it’s not like you really _do_ anything with it anyways.”

Keith ignores her jab. Instead he turns to Lance. “Give me a minute to steal a rubber-band from the office.”

Lance rolls his eyes. “ _Rubber-band_ ,” he scoffs under his breath, “see Keith, that’s why you can’t get them out of your hair. Here…take this.”

He reaches into the pocket of his wetsuit and withdraws a little red hair-lucky; or rather a bunch of little red hair-luckies still wrapped around the white paper backing from CVS. He unloops one of the hair-ties with long nimble fingers and hands it to Keith with a little self-satisfied smirk. “What? Didn’t think I forgot about your little rebellion yesterday, did you?”

Keith’s frown deepens. “So you’re what? My parole officer or something?”

Lance hefts the untouched hair-lucky as if it helps make a point. “Well, Shiro _did_ officially put me in charge of training you and Ezor, so yeah. I am. Now put your hair up.”

The frown on Keith’s face never changes, but his gaze gets exponentially sharper. He takes a step towards Lance to claim the offending hair accessory, when he stumbles. His ankle gets caught in the hose looping around his feet. Evidently, it’s enough to cause a miss-step. Keith would have faceplanted right into the concrete deck were it not for Lance’s lightning fast reflexes and close proximity. What would certainly have ended up as a disagreement between Keith and his arch nemesis gravity ends up instead as quite the Prince Charming moment.

Keith looks up from where his nose has been flattened against Lance’s chest. “Smooth,” he deadpans. He’s blushing though, which pretty much negates the sarcastic bite he’d been going for.

There’s a shout from the other side of the pool. Pidge is excitedly brandishing a screwdriver in one hand. “That’s four!” she shouts at the top of her voice, “four, and it’s only nine O’clock.”

“Doesn’t count,” Keith shouts back, “this one was a _move_.”

Lance’s face suddenly turns bright red as he looks down at the man in his arms, feet still tangled in the hose. He’s clearly unsure of what to do right now. Any and all self-assured authoritative confidence washes out of his body language as he turns into a red-faced idiot. He doesn’t move though because if he lets go, Keith is going down hard. And Lance is too chivalrous to drop him. For his part, Keith is unfazed by any of it. Or so he would like them all to think. He might even be able to get away with it too, if he wasn’t blushing like a ballerina with two left feet.

Pidge starts cackling like a hyena on laughing gas. “Nice try, Trip,” she shouts, “but I know your track record. I’m counting that one!”

“Fuck you!” Keith shouts back.

He bends over in Lance’s arms and makes a stumbling attempt to get his uncooperative legs untangled from the hose. Lance tries to help him, but that almost ends with them both on their asses. Nyma would think it was funny if it wasn’t also making her so _mad_.

“What are you two _doing?_ It’s really not that complicated!” she says, just barely keeping her aggravated tone in check. But she makes a move to help them if only to get Keith standing on his own two feet again and _away_ from Lance. In the end, it’s Nyma who sets them free with a couple unnecessarily sharp tugs on the length of the tangled hose.

“Thanks Nyma,” says Lance.

“You’re a regular Houdini,” Keith deadpans before sticking the hair-lucky between his teeth and tying his hair back.

Nyma feels her face heat up with irritation. But she smiles anyways. “Any time.”

Lance and Keith walk off after that. They head down to B Deck, the side of the dolphin pool with a little knee-deep ledge in the water. Nyma watches them from the shade of the utility hut as Lance calls the dolphins over with three evenly spaced slaps on the surface of the water. The animals come when summoned, even Red has picked this command up, and they get to work.

Nyma’s eyes narrow. She isn’t used to being the jealous one. Granted, she has no right to be after she broke up with Lance six months ago and started dating Rolo, but here she is. Unwilling or unable to let go of Lance.

She had her reasons for breaking up with him of course: he’s childish and immature, he has no attention span for the things she likes to do, he’s loud and obnoxious, never shuts up, and he gets distracted by shiny things on the sidewalk. But these things seem so insignificant when faced with the prospect of actually losing him for _good._ For how much work she puts into keeping him in her orbit, Nyma has never really thought about what it will be like when he finally gets tired of waiting for her. Because for all the things she doesn’t like about Lance, there’s a greater list of things she does. Lance is kind, optimistic and capable, handsome and funny, generous and self-sacrificing.

She tries to tell herself she’s overreacting. Keith likes Lance. _So what?_ That doesn’t mean anything is going to _happen_ between them.

Except Nyma hasn’t seen Lance look at _anyone_ the way he looked at Keith just then. It was not the puppy-love look he used to give her all the time when they were dating, it was not the star struck look he gives Shiro and Allura, it was not the proud fond look he gives Hunk and Pidge. It wasn’t even the blushing denialist look he gives Gale; and Nyma has Lance on record admitting he kinda has a little crush on the guy. No, the way Lance looked at Keith was something she’d never seen. He looked at Keith like he was staring down some fairytale prince, spellbound, but a self-respecting equal.

And then there was that little deal with the hair-luckies. When Nyma first started dating Lance, he used to keep hairclips, headbands, and emergency lip-chap in his pockets just for her. If ever she needed something, she’d go to Lance and he’d pull it out of his pockets like magic. It’s a habit he’s never broken throughout the entirety of their two year on-again, off-again relationship deal. So today when he offered Keith a hair-luckie from his pocket, she’d automatically thought the proffered trinket was one of _hers_.

But it wasn’t.

Lance never kept regular hair-luckies for her. And certainly never _red_ ones. No. These hair-luckies were new, brand new, not even off the paper backing. Which can mean only one thing; Lance bought them specifically for Keith.

So now she’s jealous.

 _‘How the tables have turned,’_ her inner voice supplies sardonically. Sometimes she really hates her inner voice.

* * *

It’s Wednesday.

“Well this is about as glamorous as I expected,” says Keith sarcastically as he pulls a long string of hair, soap scum, and fish guts out of the shower drain. He did it with his bare hands too because he’s Keith, and is now inspecting his handful of filth with a wrinkled nose. The hair is dripping all over his knees, but it appears he’s completely over it. What’s one more gross chore in a long list of gross chores?

For her part, Ezor seems considerably less captivated by shower drains. “Well don’t touch it,” she snaps with utter disgust. She reaches into the next drain—with gloves on—and pulls out a similar wad of hair. “Ugh, it smells,” she exclaims flinging it aside.

“Yes, yes it does,” says Pidge easily from the shower room doorway.

She’s on break and sipping terrible cheap coffee from a paper cup. And, like any sadistic senior associate, is enjoying watching the newbies discover the delights of their job from the vantage point of her own ivory tower. She and Lance used to be responsible for the shower drains when they first started. But they’ve both moved up in the world and don’t get stuck with this chore hardly at all anymore. And there’s something…amusing…about watching the new kids take her place. It’s like being a senior in high school again and Keith and Ezor are the little freshmen.

Ezor glowers at the deep black hole of the shower drain. “I don’t think I can do that again.”

“Do what again?” Lance asks, now appearing in the doorway himself.

Pidge grins. “Shiro’s got the new kids cleaning out the shower drains.”

Lance looks as smug and pleased as Pidge feels. “Ah yes, the most sexy job on the premises.” He folds his arms over his chest and leans sideways into the doorframe, crossing one ankle casually in front of the other. “Make sure you don’t leave any crud in there, or you’ll just have to do it again tomorrow,” he advises.

Pidge snickers. “Shiro likes these things cleaned out with military precision.”

Keith rolls his eyes at them and goes back to work, refusing, as usual, to stoop to their bait. But Ezor hasn’t figured them out yet. Her face goes ashen as she reaches back into the drain to get the rest of the gunk. Pidge almost feels bad for the poor girl.

“That’s it,” says Lance from the sidelines, “you get those drains clean, and I’ll talk to Corran about getting you guys your cleaning stripes.”

Ezor makes a face, one that’s half confused and half disgusted, “what are cleaning…” she breaks off in a scream and whips her hand out of the drain as fast as she can. “Something moved in there!” Ezor squeals, “that’s it, I can’t put my hand back in there.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Fine, I’ve got this one.” He scoots over to Ezor’s drain as she shrinks away. Pidge, Ezor, and Lance watch him intently as he sinks his arm up to the elbow in the drain. By the expression on his face, it looks like he’s searching for something in the slimy depths.

“Did you find it?” Ezor asks after a few seconds.

Keith makes a face. “Nope…” a couple seconds pass, “oh wait, there it is.”

“Ew, ew, ew,” Ezor cries, “how can you touch that?”

“Don’t know,” says Lance with something between disgust and reluctant respect, “bet Keith would make a good plumber though.”

Pidge snickers. “Are you talking about how he cleans the drain or are you staring at his butt-crack?”

Lance sputters with red faced indignation. “Pidge! How… _I would never_ …Keith has a _terrible butt!”_

And for the first time since they met him, Keith falters. For the first time since they met him, Keith doesn’t have a comeback at the ready. Instead, he turns around sharply, pivoting on the balls of his toes to face them as he whips his hand from the drain. A little black lizard flies out of his hand and scurries away at top speed. Ezor screams but Keith just stares at Lance with his big black-lilac eyes. He looks like he’s been slapped in the face. “What?”

Lance just stares back at him like a deer in the headlights. “Fuck,” he curses. Lance makes a hasty escape, turning tail and running before Keith can snap back into a more recognizable version of himself.

And Pidge… _well…_

Shit. Pidge suddenly recognizes her mistake. She’d meant it to be funny god damnit. She’s meant it to be a lighthearted jest about plumbers and their low riding pants and a little jab at Keith. She wanted to try to ease some of the ever-present tension between Lance and Keith, but it would seem she’d just put her foot in her mouth.

“Well…” says Ezor breaking the silence that’s befallen the shower room, “that happened.”

Pidge winces. Call damage control because she’s pulled a Lance. She fucked up. Call 911. This is an emergency. Pidge Katie Holt has swallowed her foot and it needs to be surgically removed.

“Well Tater-Tot, it appears I’m not the only one that can make people forget how to talk. I count a whole 15 seconds of silence,” says Keith. His habitual scowl, mocking yet also somewhat impressed, has taken over again.

“Not helping, Keith,” says Ezor quietly.

Keith shrugs with deceptive ease like nothing can affect him. “Wasn’t trying to,” he says.

The cool asshole is back but now Pidge thinks she can read the fine print. The little jerk of his shoulders as he settles into a more casual position, the way he wraps his arms over his chest instead of folding them, the way he tilts his head her way without actually looking. Everything screams at Pidge that he’s a little mortified. Though on who’s behalf she supposes remains to be seen.

Pidge shakes her head. “Sorry about that Trip. I shouldn’t have ribbed Lance like that in front of you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” says Keith shifting yet again. He slides the drain grate back into place, probably more as a distraction than anything else.

Meanwhile, Ezor’s eyes go wide as if she just figured out the romantic sub-plot of some novel. “Oh…they _like_ each other.”

“Pft,” Keith rolls his eyes. “If that were the case, I might actually have to consider the possibility that the universe _doesn’t_ hate my guts.”

“What does _that_ mean?” asks Ezor a little brazenly.

“It means Lance is in denial,” Pidge supplies. She runs a hand down her face and stares into the unappetizing depths of her cheap coffee while she tries to think of something to say.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself Tater-tot,” says Keith easily. “It was just meant to be funny.”

“So are you going to apologize to him?” Ezor asks. Because she really is a sweet girl.

Pidge turns to head out. “Guess I’d better.”

She walks away, leaving Keith and Ezor to their list of chores. She tosses her paper cup in the trash bin on her way out of the breakroom, intent on using the rest of her lunch to hunt down Lance and apologize. She finds him four minutes later behind the utility hut, leaning against the railing, looking out over the brilliant ocean.

She knows him well enough to see the anger and embarrassment in his eyes. She sees the underscored betrayal he feels in the way he keeps his face front to the water effectively ignoring her presence. Pidge takes a breath to gather her thoughts; a moment to find some half solid words of apology. She knows she screwed up. Pidge rarely admits fault, but that doesn’t mean she’s incapable of genuinely apologizing for her mistakes.

Leaning against the railing and propping one foot on the lower crossbeam, she mirror’s Lance’s position. She follows his line of sight with her own eyes, squinting into the shimmering horizon, until they can mutually agree to look at each other. Lance doesn’t move but she knows what he’s waiting for.

“I’m sorry Lance,” Pidge says softly, “I shouldn’t have made that joke in front of Trip…er Keith. I didn’t really mean to put you on the spot and embarrass you like that.”

Lance still doesn’t look at her. “You didn’t put me on the spot Pidge, well I mean you did, but I’m not as upset with you as I am with myself.”

“Mind if I ask why?” Pidge says, trying to be a little more sensitive than usual.

“Because if I could think faster on my feet, I would have had something to say to that. You know, like something clever, and I wouldn’t have…I wouldn’t have…insulted Keith like that. I’m the one the made it weird. I’m sure if our roles had been reversed Keith would have had some witty zinger.” Lance drops his head and starts picking at his nails to distract himself.

And Pidge, thinks she might need to choose her next words carefully. “So you’re upset that you’re not as quick with the insults as he is. And this has nothing to do with my crack about you looking at his butt?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know,” says Lance. “Did you see that look on his face? I’ve never seen his eyes go so big. And it was awkward as _hell._ He thinks I’m a complete loser now for sure. I mean a blushing, tongue tied loser who…well never mind.”

“I talked to Trip after you left,” says Pidge, “I don’t think he thinks that about you at all…”

But Lance keeps going as if she never spoke. “Shiro puts me in charge of teaching Keith and Ezor the ropes of training the dolphins, and what do I do? I make a fool out of myself! I thought I maybe had things under control yesterday, but then I do something like…like _that_. And now he’ll never listen to me again. He thinks I’m an _idiot!_ ”

“ _Lance_ ,” Pidge almost shouts, “he doesn’t think you’re an idiot!”

Now Lance spins to face her full on. “How do you know? Did he say that?”

“Not exactly,” Pidge admits, “but he and Ezor really just wanted me to come apologize and make sure you were OK.”

Lance chews his lower lip for a couple seconds. “Do you think I should go apologize too? For making a scene I mean?”

“I don’t think you need to. They were both really cool.”

“Ugh.”

“What now?”

“Nothing,” groans Lance.

And Pidge knows he’s lying. Lance always doubts himself. Most of the time, he covers it up with jokes and shenanigans meant to fool people into thinking his theatrical mistakes and boisterous personality are intentional displays of immaturity. When the truth is, half the time it’s just an act. Whenever Lance gives his brain a chance to slow down, he drowns in insecurities. It’s kind of tragic in its way. Pidge bumps her shoulder against his. “Hey, you’re pretty cool, Lance. You know that right?”

A half smile edges its way up one side of Lance’s face when he looks at her. “I think that’s the first time you called me cool.”

Pidge rolls her eyes and brings the subject round full swing. “So you’re not mad at me anymore?”

Lance snorts. “Like I said, I wasn’t really upset with you. I was upset with me. Because I over reacted, and made a sputtering fool of myself, and told Keith he has a terrible butt.”

Pidge laughs outright at the ways Lance spells out the confession. “I take it he doesn’t have a terrible butt.”

Lance’s face turns bright red as he shoves her. “Get out of here Pidgeon.” But he’s smiling again, and the ice has melted so Pidge will take what she can get.

She decides to leave him to it and starts trekking back down the path towards the dolphin pool. Her break is over anyways. Sometimes—well really most of the time—she wishes she could solve people problems as easily as chemistry equations. With chemistry she’s always right. With people she’s only _usually_ right.

Pidge doesn’t make mistakes.

Pidge is always right.

Not true.

Pidge just doesn’t make mistakes she can’t correct.

* * *

It’s Thursday.

The aquarium will be closing in a half hour and Lance has a little checklist from Shiro to run through before they’ll be ready to start locking up. He heaves a deep breath and checks ‘power wash the poolside: penguin exhibit’ off his list. The penguins make such a mess every day, Lance doesn’t even know _how_ they manage it. Usually, he hates getting suck anywhere near the penguin exhibit, but right now he doesn’t care. Because it’s the first day of work since Monday that he can actually _breath_.

Keith has the day off and the asshole is safely off the premises, painting away on the beach. At least, Lance _assumes_ he’s painting on the beach. Keith doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to give up on his half-assed art gig just because he’s got a grown-up job at the aquarium now.

‘ _Enough,’_ Lance scolds himself, ‘ _he’s not here so you don’t have to think about him.’_

Lance kicks the power-washer hose off to the side before leaving through the back exit and locking the door behind himself. He takes a deep breath of non-penguin air. The sun is just starting to cast longer shadows and the air is cooling off just a bit as a nice breeze comes in off the ocean. The crowds are practically gone for the day; there’s just a few stragglers left wandering between the sealions, the dolphins, and the petting pool. Nobody wants to see the penguins though, because fuck the penguins and their incessant pooping. Still, it’s a nice night. A nice night _not_ to think about Keith.

Lance takes his checklist over to the petting pool, closer to the aquarium proper, under a wide blue cabana. Gale, one of the freshwater aquarists, is already out here running his tools under the out door tap. When he sees Lance, his face lights up.

“Ma boi, Lance McClain,” Gale says brightly, straightening slightly from where he’s bent over the tap.

Lance blushes a very little. Luckily the pink he’s sure is dusting his cheeks is hidden under the trippy light of dusk. “What’s up man?” He takes one hand off his clipboard and extends it toward the man in question.

Gale clasps Lance’s hand in one of his own and gives it one hard shake before pulling back into a bastardized fist bump. “You know me man, always chasing the next big dream.”

“Oh yeah?” Lance smiles, “what is it this time?”

“Hang-gliding in Fiji,” says Gale with a conspiratorial waggle of his eyebrows, “found another brochure, but this one’s _legit._ Almost saved up enough moolah too. For me and a friend to go at some point this fall.”

“This one sounds like you’re actually gonna make it happen,” Lance comments.

“You’d better believe it baby,” Gale grins, “I’m for sure going. The only question is, who’s going with?”

Lance almost takes the bait; almost runs with the unspecified offer. Because Gale was the ‘latest crush’ who’s name Lance had been thinking of on the boardwalk when he asked Keith to read his mind. Gale is… _amazing._ Really. He’s maybe not Lance’s type per say, or well, he hadn’t been at first. But that’s kind of changed. Gale’s got sick multi-colored dreadlocks that contrast strikingly with his black skin, and a perfectly proportioned muscular bod. But what changed Lance’s mind about him was his personality. Gale has proven over the eight months they’ve been working together to be not only absolutely hilarious and a good listener, but also trustworthy. Gale is just such a good person, that Lance figures he was bound to start crushing on the guy sooner or later.

But even though Gale seems to show interest in Lance as well, he doesn’t do anything about it. Because Keith _had_ been right about one thing, Lance’s love life is confused. So, he pretends to miss the hint. “I see. Mr. Popular, you’ve got too many friends to narrow it down.”

Gale laughs at him as he gathers his now clean equipment. “Don’t worry, I’ve got time to make a decision.”

Lance chuckles. “Uh huh, sure you do. Just do yourself a favor and make sure _you_ actually get there this time.”

“Oh I _will._ I am for real this time.” Gale throws another smile Lance’s way as he takes his newly cleaned tools and heads for the back door to the aquarium. “I swear! This time I’m gonna do it. Mark my words.”

And Lance smiles. Gale always leaves him in a good mood. There’s a reason Gale has become his latest crush. If Lance could ever manage to emotionally cut ties with Nyma Rossi, he _might_ let himself move on the guy. He wonders if that’s what Keith had meant when he’d said, “you don’t know. You’re confused.”

 _‘Nope,’_ Lance tells himself, _‘no way.’_ Because that would mean Keith actually _had_ read his mind. Which is _impossible_. Still, Lance wonders. He hasn’t gotten that night out of his mind, he’s been playing Keith’s words over and over again in his mind: all the riddles, all the mystery, and all the plain old-fashioned _magic_ that is Keith. Because the more Lance plays those words over in his head, and the more he analyses the scene, the more he realizes that Keith had been absolutely right. He my not have told Lance the name of his new crush, but Lance wonders if it really _doesn’t_ matter. Not when Keith hit the nail on the head.

The name Lance had been thinking of, was Gale. The person who made him confused about these feelings was Nyma. The crush Lance didn’t know about was Keith.

And _that_ realization hits him like a ton of bricks.

No that can’t be right. There’s no way that can be right. Sure he’s admitted to himself that he thinks Keith is attractive. Big dark eyes with girlish lashes, wild untamed hair, perky figure, features that can’t decide to be either sharp or soft…Keith is…he’s…Lance has been defeated by his own more honest brain…Keith is _magic._ Lance feels as though someone just splashed his insides with a bucket of cold water. He has a crush on _Keith_. On his fucking _rival_. _How utterly unhelpful_.

Caught up in his own mind and now fully unaware of his surroundings, Lance drops his clipboard, presses the heels of both hands into his eyes, and groans out loud. _Oh no, what has he done? How did this even happen?_ It’s bad enough that Lance started slightly crushing on Gale while he’s supposed to be waiting for Nyma to get back together with him, but now he’s crushing on _Keith too_. Lance just stands there for a bit unable to move. He’s conflicted, torn between…he doesn’t even know _what_. Why is love so hard? Why does he always do this to himself? Why, just _why?_ Why does it have to be Keith—Gale makes sense—but why Keith of all people?

 _‘Because he’s hot as fuck,’_ Lance’s unhelpful better brain supplies, ‘ _and he’s a sharp witted asshole. Because he’s mysterious and magical. Because he’s wild and dangerous. Because you’re a moron who always falls for people out of your league._ ’

Lance’s inner voice seems to be full of unhelpful epiphanies today, wow. He continues to stand rooted in place, trying and failing to banish every last thought from his head. The sun hangs a little lower over the water; Lance can tell because his shadow has gotten a bit longer. The air is a tad cooler too, not by much, but by enough for him to feel the gentle caress of an early evening breeze.

“Got a headband on you by any chance?” asks a familiar voice. Nyma suddenly materializes beside him.

Lance comes to himself a little. Automatically reaching for one the cheap headbands he always keeps in his pockets for just such an occasion. It is a habit he developed while they were still dating, and bad habits die hard.

Nyma takes the headband without a word. She’s still in her damp show wetsuit. Her long blond hair is still drying from the Killer Whale show at six today, hanging in stringy folds over her face and around her shoulders. There are a few hula-hoops slung over her shoulder with her lanyard and keycard. Lance has always liked her best like this. With her scars out there for the world to marvel at and appreciate, with her red nose just starting to leather in the sun, with her lavender eyes sparkling like little jewels. He likes her best like this. Raw and beautiful. Without all the makeup and the heals and the miniskirts.

But Nyma is like him; she has self-doubts. She doesn’t believe she’s beautiful. Or rather she compares herself to other girls too much to really, in her heart, believe she’s the beautiful woman he tells her she is. Lance thinks she’s perfect, but she doesn’t believe him. They’re kind of kindred spirts that way. They understand each other. No matter how many times she dumps him, no matter how many times she breaks his heart, he understands her. He feels her pain. And he believes, like she does, that one day they’ll end up together for the long run.

That’s why Lance won’t make a move on Gale. That’s why he won’t let himself develop anything more than a little crush on Keith. Because people like that—perfect, amazing, talented people who accept how amazing they are—can never _really_ understand him. Keith can’t understand what it’s like to be _not quite good enough_.

“Watching Gale again?” Nyma asks softly, breaking apart his thoughts with her usually wonton abandon.

He sighs. “Nah. I was staring off into the middle distance. Gale just happened to be standing in the way.”

She hums. Not believing him. Not calling him out on it. They may have an on and off again sort of deal going on, but Nyma knows him inside and out. He thinks or rather he hopes, she doesn’t know Rolo or any of the others quite like she knows him. He thinks—and this might just be conjecture—that she dates the others just to test _him_. Like women do in those medieval romance tales where the knight must overcome harrowing battles for the one he truly loves.

Lance never stops to think that maybe she’s put him through enough.

“The new guys are cute,” Nyma says conversationally.

Her tone is casual, but Lance knows the anxious, all-consuming self-doubt boiling beneath it. He’s supposed to find a fault with Ezor and Keith; something small, something that lets her know he doesn’t think too much of them. Something that builds her up before she has to start comparing herself to them for real. He has to give her something she can repeat to herself when she doubts her own worth and beauty. It’s a dance he’s danced a hundred times.

It sounds a little vain and petty at first, but it really isn’t like that. Nyma is self-conscious about the acne scars. And she can’t really cover it up when she’s spending all day in the pool. She just needs reassurance. One day maybe she won’t, but for now, Lance will tell her she’s beautiful every day till she learns to believe it.

By rights, that should be Rolo’s job since she’s dating him now. But Lance knows they have a special bond over their own insecurities. So he doesn’t mind being the person she comes to for reassurance. It’s just one of those things that helps him believe that the connection between them is _real_. It’s the thing that keeps him going when she flirts with other guys. Because those other guys will never have what they have. It’s a little selfish of him, he thinks. But Lance isn’t perfect, as he will readily admit, so in his imperfection, he takes what he can get.

Lance never stops to think that maybe his beautiful heart is being used and treaded on.

He never stops to think that maybe he isn’t the one being selfish in the end.

“You home in there?” Nyma asks.

Lance shakes himself out of his reverie. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry.”

She rolls her eyes in slight annoyance. “Need me to repeat?”

“No, no, I was listening.” He takes a second to think. He has to find fault with Ezor and Keith, but they’re good people, and he refuses to say anything too mean about either of them. “I guess they’re OK,” he says, “wasn’t really paying attention.”

Nyma chitters a laugh, but he knows her well enough to hear the scoff underneath it. “You sure ‘bout that?”

Lance keeps looking lazily into the distance. “Ezor’s not my type. I think it’s the pink hair.”

“But Gale has colored hair,” Nyma points out.

And Shit, that’s true. But Lance can work with this. “I know that. It’s not like colored hair is a _bad_ thing, just like, I think people look better natural. Like you. Quirky, but natural. There’s something really beautiful about that, you know?”

She smiles more genuinely, and Lance knows he’s on the right track.

“Keith’s kinda like that,” Nyma says thoughtfully, “he’s got those weird eyes and there’s just something…inhuman…about him. But he’s all natural. It’s…well, he’s different.”

 _‘His eyes aren’t weird_ ,’ Lance thinks, ‘ _they’re beautiful._ ’ But knows better than to say that out loud. He’s supposed to find something wrong with Keith now. But Lance’s problem since the first day he met Keith has always been, there _is_ nothing wrong with him. Keith is perfect. Even when he’s being a complete asshole, he’s perfect. His eyes are perfect, his mullet is perfect, his irritating sense of humor is perfect. Even his goddamn asshole _scowl_ is perfect. Nyma isn’t wrong about Keith being inhuman, but even that is perfect on him. Keith is perfectly inhuman and _that’s_ the problem people seem to have with him. Even Lance.

But Lance has to say _something_ before Nyma gets impatient. He comes up with the only lame-ass thing he can. “Yeah. He’s a major klutz though.”

Nyma gives him a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”

And Lance thinks that’s not quite the fault she wanted to hear about. He looks back into space. “He’s just really clumsy. Trips over himself a lot,” Lance says casually. “It’s annoying,” he adds to save the moment. ‘ _Annoyingly cute_ ,’ his traitorous mind supplies.

But Nyma seems placated. “Hope he doesn’t hurt himself on the job.”

“Hopefully,” says Lance.

“Well, I’ve got to put this crap away. See you tomorrow, Lance,” says Nyma. She gives him one of her genuine smiles.

And her smile is like twisting a knife in Lance’s gut. But he smiles back, bright as ever. “Yeah, see you tomorrow,” he says.

Nyma walks away into the low hanging sun, towards the ocean and the palm trees and the dolphin huts. She feels better about herself, doubts smoothed over for now, and for that Lance is glad he was able to help. But Lance himself feels worse for it. He feels like he somehow betrayed Ezor and Gale and Keith by talking about them that way. His own doubts rage in his head more loudly than ever. He wasn’t strong enough or smart enough to help Nyma _and_ defend their honor at the same time. He wasn’t good enough for all four of them.

Lance winces as the guilt of gossiping slaps him in the face. He sends Ezor a mental apology _. ‘I’m sorry for what I said. I like your pink hair. It looks good on you.’_

And even though he might not be on the best of terms with Keith at the moment, might not understand a goddam thing about whatever fucked up relationship they have, Lance still sends him a mental apology too _. ‘I’m sorry Keith, I didn’t mean a word of that. I don’t think you tripping all over the place is annoying. Not at all. I think your clumsy ass is perfect.’_

Lance never stops to think that maybe he doesn’t _have_ to help everyone solve their problems. At least, not until he’s solved his own.

* * *

It’s Thursday.

Allura is on her lunch break. As per usual, she decided to eat her lunch in the HQ hut with the dolphin trainers rather than back in her office in the aquarium proper. She washes down a bite of her soggy grilled-cheese sandwich with a sip of the Black-raspberry Lyn-Lyn Shiro left in the mini-fridge. He’ll be pissed later but she’ll blame it on Lance.

The hut is empty except for her and Keith, the latter of whom is _supposed_ to be on a 15-minute break but isn’t. Instead he’s hunched over Shiro’s computer with a blank Excel Spreadsheet trying to fix the mess Shiro made of next week’s schedule. Allura is trying to help him. She points at random anomalies over his shoulder and talks with her mouth full. She can tell she’s annoying him, but she doesn’t care. At this point, Allura has already adopted Keith as the younger brother she never had, so annoying him comes with the job description. 

“Wait, why isn’t Hunk on this schedule at all?” Keith asks, “he isn’t listed for vacation time.”

Allura points at another tab. “Check the Aquarist schedule,” she suggests around another mouthful of sandwich, “Shiro sometimes puts Hunk on the wrong calendar because he works in the kitchen some mornings.”

Keith shakes his head. “OK, what’s the Aquarium Staff password?”

“Here, log in as me,” Allura unclips her ID keycard from the front of her scrubs and hands it to Keith. “I’ve got access to everything.”

He flips the card over to where her username and password is written in magenta sharpie on the back. They keep going. And sure enough, Shiro put Hunk on the wrong schedule. _Again_. That tends to happen when one brings one’s work home and finishes it at three in the morning. Honestly, Allura doesn’t know how Shiro has lasted as long as he has. He burns the candle on both ends; comes in with the morning crew every day and stays late. Or even if he goes home at a decent time, he brings his paperwork home with him.

Allura worries about Shiro. The dolphin program is a loosely organized warzone because Shiro just can’t keep up with all the work of being a program director, a manager, a dolphin trainer _, and_ a veterinary nurse. Are she and Keith supposed to log in to Shiro’s computer to mess with his spreadsheets? Short answer, no. But Allura wants him to come home with her today, so she has Keith using his break to get Shiro back on track. It’s ridiculous really. Shiro is an idiot.

Allura’s phone rings. The customized ringtone of _Moana’s_ ‘You’re Welcome’ blasts from her back pocket. Speak of the devil. She shifts sideways in her seat, up onto one hip, and slides the phone out of her pocket. She puts the phone on speaker and set’s it on the desk for Keith’s benefit.

“What’s happened this time?” she asks without preamble, “and by the way, you’re on speaker.”

“What did you do, Shiro?” Keith asks.

She can almost hear the eye roll in Shiro’s voice. “Why must you assume something happened?”

“Because you’re supposed to be working. So spill,” says Allura, knowing full well that when Shiro is supposed to be working, he only calls when there’s some form of crisis.

On the other end of the line, Shiro winces. “Fine. You’re right. There’s a rat in the women’s bathroom. And it’s causing…a scene.”

Allura feels her eyebrows go up. “A _scene?_ ”

Keith starts laughing uncontrollably in the seat beside her.

“Shut up, Kit,” Shiro snaps, “Allura, I need your help. The rat already leapt at the custodial woman and facilities now refuses to go in there. And there’s a girl who refuses to come out until the rat situation is contained.”

“Well, what do you want _me_ to do?” Allura asks. Keith is still laughing.

“I want you to come and get the girl out so her friends will stop snapchatting videos of our rat-infested rest-rooms,” Shiro states.

 _‘Ah, the joys of leadership.’_ “Why me?” Allura presses. She already knows she’s going to help him, but it’s fun to make Shiro squirm. He’s so perfect and so tightly strung sometimes that she often feels the need to poke holes in his balloon. “I’m on my lunch break. I’m off the clock.”

Shiro winces again. “Sorry, but you’re a woman.”

Allura resists the urge to laugh. “You only want me because I’m a woman? How sexist of you.”

“Would it help if I said you are a brave independent woman who isn’t a coward in the face of a rodent?” he asks.

“It might,” she concedes, “alright, I’ll be there to save your ass in two minutes.”

“Thank you,” the relief in Shiro’s voice is palpable. “And bring Keith with you if he’s still there.”

“Keith? He’s off the clock too, you know. Oh wait, let me guess, you want him because he’s a mermaid.”

Keith snorts.

“Yes,” Shiro admits, “unless _you_ volunteer to talk to the rat.”

Keith leans forward over the phone. “So you’re sending me in the girl’s bathroom for you? _Coward_.”

“Mermaids have sub-genders,” says Shiro, “it’s different for you!”

“So what?” Keith demands with a crooked smile.

“You like guys!”

“And your point is?”

Allura breaks up their bickering by picking her phone up off the desk. “We’ll be there in two. Hold on Shiro.” She hangs up and shoves the phone back into her pocket as she stands. She shuffles Keith out of the office, grabbing a plastic ten-gallon bucket on her way out the door.

When they arrive at the outdoor exhibit’s restroom house, there’s a small crowd already gathered at the door of the women’s side. Just as Shiro had said, there’s a group of three girls with their phones out Snapchatting the whole debacle. Shiro is standing beside the door, _apparently_ calm and collected, telling everyone that back-up is on its way and to please ‘sit tight.’

Pushing past the crowd, Allura pauses in the doorway with Keith right behind her shoulder. In the middle of the bathroom floor, where the tiles slope downward towards the drain, is a rat. A big black one that’s missing the end of its tail and one of its front legs. Slipping and sliding, unable to gain purchase on the slippery incline, squealing like a greased pig.

There are three stalls in the bathroom, doors gaping wide open as tribute to the hasty exit of most of the occupants. The operative word being ‘ _most_ ’. Because there, perched on top of the toilet seat in the last stall, is a girl with long brown hair, fabulous red lips, and wearing a funny froggy-chair hoodie. She isn’t screaming or looking particularly panicked, but Allura gets the feeling she’d rather not walk past the rat. Not that she blames her.

“This is your crisis for today?” Allura asks dryly unimpressed, turning back to Shiro.

Averting his eyes, Shiro rubs the back of his neck with one hand. “I wouldn’t say it’s a _crisis_ , but as long as you weren’t busy…”

She rolls her eyes. “This might be one for the record.”

Keith looks between them, eyes almost suspicious. “Does this stuff happen a lot?”

“Can somebody help me? _Please!_ ” the girl calls from inside.

All three of them turn their attention back to the situation in the bathroom, where the girl is still standing on the rim of the toilet seat.

“Hang on Kiera,” Shiro says reassuringly, “Allura’s gonna come in and get you.”

Allura turns on Shiro. “What! I thought you said, Keith was on pest control.” She slaps the ten-gallon bucket against Keith’s legs and drops it. That’s her way of giving the boys a not-so-subtle hint to man up and deal with the rat.

Keith’s face contorts with disgust. “If we voted on this, I’d demand a recount.”

Allura looks back at him over her shoulder. “Don’t you speak _Rat_ or something?”

“Does it matter?”

“Will one of you please do _something?”_ Kiera calls.

Shiro gives Allura a pleading look. Shiro—the innocent man—can’t even make himself walk into the woman’s bathroom to save a damsel in distress. And it’s fucking hilarious.

“Fine,” says Allura, “I’ll go in there.” She turns her attention back to Kiera. “OK, I’m coming to get you. I’ll give you a piggy-back out of here if that’s OK with you.”

“Yes _please_ ,” says Kiera.

Allura takes a cautious step into the bathroom before turning to look at Keith over her shoulder. “Well, are you gonna get the rat or not?” she demands.

“Depends,” says Keith, “do I get a raise?” But he picks up the ten-gallon bucket by the flimsy handle and steps boldly into the bathroom.

Allura takes a few steps further into the bathroom herself; slinking along the wall to avoid spooking the agitated rodent. As it is, her presence alone seems to have an adverse effect on the animal; its squeals and efforts to extricate itself from the slippery drain tiles redouble vigorously _. ‘Of all the states I could have moved to, it had to be Florida.’_ She’s thoroughly disgusted, but she ignores it because Kiera is waiting patiently to be rescued.

Meanwhile, Keith is doing that thing where he presses two fingers to his temple as he stares intently at the rat. Allura can only assume that’s some kind of mermaid magic; maybe the gesture helps him focus his telepathic powers or something. _And doesn’t this all just sound ridiculous_? Well, ridiculous or not, whatever he’s doing seems to be working. Keith tips the bucket over on its side. The rat turns around and runs straight in, which leaves Allura able to walk more freely.

“Wait, is the rat in the bucket?” asks Kiera, still standing on the toilet seat.

Keith smirks, as he reaches down to tip the bucket right side up. “You can come across the floor now.”

Allura holds out her hand to help Kiera down. But the second Keith lowers the fingers pressed to his temple, the rat springs out of the bucket. _And who knew rats could even leap that high?_ Kiera screams in surprise and jumps onto Allura’s back with Lance level speed. To her credit, Allura doesn’t lose her footing, which is more than can be said for Keith.

“Poseidon-all-fucking-mighty!” Keith curses as he trips over his own feet and lands squarely on his ass. The bucket falls back against the tiles with a hollow clatter of cheap plastic.

“Keith, language,” Shiro scolds automatically at the same time as which Kiera screams, “somebody do something!” But Allura remains rooted in place as the rat makes another frantic scramble up the short incline. It slides back down at the half-way mark. _Stupid rodent_.

“Poseidon-all-fucking-mighty!” Keith repeats, shaking his head as he gets back to his feet. He tips the bucket back on its side for the rat to crawl into again. “Shiro, give me your shirt.”

“Why?” Shiro demands.

“Because I need to cover the top of this bucket so the rat can’t leap out again,” says Keith holding out his hand imperiously, “strip.”

Allura doesn’t miss the way several eyes turn towards Shiro as he reluctantly drags the uniform tee-shirt over his head. Or the way several mouths drop open gawking at his toned chest. Her face heats up in quiet annoyance, but fortunately everyone is too busy watching either Shiro or the rat.

Keith presses his fingers to his temple again. And again, the rat runs into the bucket. But this time, Keith secures Shiro’s shirt over the top of the bucket before tipping the thing right-side up. There’s a bulge under the shirt as the rat makes another escape attempt when he releases the rodent from his telepathic hold. But at least there’s no escape this time. _Thank god!_

Allura piggy-backs Kiera the rest of the way out of the bathroom, setting her down among her friends who are _still_ ogling Shiro. Not that Allura cares, mind you. Nope. Not at all. Keith steps up beside her, rat occupied bucket held tightly in both arms, while the custodial woman shuffles around them to disinfect the bathroom.

“Thanks guys,” says Shiro, “sorry to pull you off your breaks.”

“Off my break?” says Keith, “oh no. I intend to start the clock over on that.”

Shiro laughs at that and reaches over to aggressively tousle Keith’s hair. “You’re holding up pretty good for a younger brother.”

“Well, it’s your example I’m trying to live _down_ too,” says Keith, just sidestepping Shiro’s ill-aimed punch to the shoulder.

“You little brat.”

They all head off to the back lot, beside a plot of undeveloped land, to let the rat go. Allura has seen Shiro tear himself up over his strained relationship with Keith for the past three years—since the first day he started at the aquarium himself—but today she sees a different Shiro. One who doesn’t hide regret in his big gray eyes. Seeing Shiro so happy as he wraps one arm around her shoulders and the other around Keith’s, she thinks this is a blessing. Between the two of them—herself and Keith—they can take care of Shiro. And between the three of them, they can take care of the dolphins. And with everyone else on the dolphin team, they can take care of the aquarium. Allura thinks that hiring a mermaid is a blessing.

* * *

It’s Friday.

Keith’s first week at work has come to an end. Almost.

He won’t be working the weekend, and his Friday shift is already over, but Shiro asked him to stay and watch the dolphin show. So yeah, the week is _technically_ over but also not. Because Keith couldn’t turn Shiro down and skip out on the show even if he wanted to, which he kind of does, but he’s trying really hard to be a better brother.

To be clear, Keith stayed for Shiro. And Shiro _only._ And no, he is _not_ lying to himself because Keith never lies about anything _, ever_. The fact that he’s only been paying attention to Lance since the show started is only a side effect of his lapse in judgment, _not_ the cause.

Thus, the low-down on the situation is simply this: Keith is already dressed in street clothes, sitting on the staff bench below the Splash Zone, watching Lance parade around in a wetsuit because his _brother_ asked him to. That’s the low-down. The _tea_ on the situation is this: Keith doesn’t want to be here watching Lance because the Jackass in question has been exceptionally good at pissing him off this week. That’s the tea.

On Monday, Keith had been hoping they’d get along. He’d been hoping that Lance could get over himself well enough to work together. But by Wednesday, those hopes and dreams got tossed right out the window. Nothing changed since Lance avoided him during the Mothman Documentary hangout. And now Keith thinks he might just have to settle for a professional kind of working relationship with Lance. Which is sad because there are moments when Keith thinks they could be good friends. Or at least go back to whatever confused friendship they’d had before Shiro hired him.

_Well fuck it all._

Keith isn’t sorry Shiro hired him. Lance will just have to get over his insecurities and deal. Because it’s not Keith’s fault he isn’t human.

He goes back to watching the show. The hot Florida sun bearing down on his head and the uncomfortable corrugated bleachers notwithstanding, Keith is kind of enjoying the show. Which is a pleasant surprise considering he’ll be expected to be up on that stage as well by the end of the month.

Pidge and Hunk are taking the dolphins through some of the easier exercises like rolling over and slapping their flippers on the water. The crowd behind and above him cheers when prompted by Shiro who leads the performance with all the authority and grace Keith has come to expect from his brother. Still, everything pales in comparison with Lance’s smile; the guy is a natural performer. When he’s up on that stage, you can’t help but watch. His charisma pulls you in, and ah-ha, you’re caught. 

“You’re really hung up on Lance, aren’t you?” Ezor asks, bumping her shoulder into his. And damn, Keith had almost forgotten she was sitting right beside him.

He drags his lower lip out from between his teeth, but he doesn’t look at her. “Does it matter?”

“Why don’t you just ask him out?” she suggests.

This time Keith does tear his eyes away from the show long enough to look at her. “Why the fuck would you think that’s a good idea?”

“ _Because,”_ says Ezor, “then you could stop being grouchy around each other all the time.”

“Maybe I like being grouchy,” Keith huffs.

Ezor gives him a look. “OK, give me one solid reason why you can’t ask him out?”

“Because he’ll turn me down, duh,” Keith rolls his eyes.

“Oh yeah? And how do you know that?” Ezor demands.

And Keith can’t tell her how he _knows_ for a fact Lance isn’t ready for shit like that, but it’s the cold hard truth. Lance isn’t ready for that. Not yet. Even if Keith wasn’t being blasted with Lance’s particularly loud thoughts all the time, it’s written all over his face. Lance is waiting on Nyma—for whatever fucked up reason—and hasn’t yet moved on to a place where he’s looking for clearer water. At least not yet.

“Well?” Ezor presses.

Keith decides to go for something as closes to the truth as he can get. “Lance is waiting for someone else.”

Ezor rolls her eyes at that. “Please? Have you seen the way he looks at you? He’s as smitten as you are! _Worse_ almost. Because he’s too emotionally constipated to admit it, even to himself.”

“Is that so?” Keith asks, rhetorical and dry.

“He’s just too caught up in hating you.”

“Thanks Swami. I feel so much better now.”

Ezor throws her arm over his shoulders and leans against him. “Alright Short Dark and Brooding, give me one good reason why it won’t work out.”

“Nyma.”

Keith feels Ezor tense beside him. When he looks at her, her face is contorted with obvious distaste. “Oh yeah, the creature from the black lagoon.”

“You can just call her a bitch, you know?” says Keith with a lopsided smirk, “she’s been called worse.”

“My mama would wash my mouth out with soap.”

Keith twists a little in Ezor’s arm to get a better look at her completely serious face. But slowly, the straight line of her mouth eases upwards into a broad grin. They start laughing together; not boisterous or annoying but just…easy. Between Allura, Pidge, and Ezor, Keith can say he has three friends. Which is three more than he’s had in a very long time. So when Ezor shifts slightly against him to get more comfortable on the hot metal bleacher, he shifts with her. They lean into each other to ease their aching backs and return their attention to the show.

Up on the stage, Lance starts spinning in place while the dolphins in the pool match him turn for turn. Keith doesn’t let the sigh escape his lips. He just watches. Lance is adorable. And his connection to the dolphins is unlike any Keith has ever seen from a human. It’s frankly astounding how much the animals love him. Lance puts his friends and the dolphins before himself, that much is obvious, and he’ll do anything for the ones he cares about. Cliché? Sure. But it makes Keith kind of mushy on the inside where he’d really rather _not_ be mushy. Lance is always the exception to his rules.

So Keith decides then and there: what’s best for Lance comes before anything else. He’ll try not to take Lance’s current attitude towards him personally. And then maybe, just maybe, they can be friends. Keith decides then and there, he’s OK with that.

Come next Monday, Keith plans to get their…relationship…sorted out. Albeit in his usual abrasive way, but he’s going to make things right between them. Because having Lance as a friend is better than having no Lance at all. Keith tells himself he’ll be OK with that. Or at least, he can learn to be OK with that. For Lance’s sake.

But Keith misses a pair of cobalt eyes watching him leaning into Ezor. And he misses the those watching eyes darken with just a hint of jealousy.

Next Monday is going to be interesting.

* * *

Find the artists: [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ashenangel2) [deviantart](https://www.deviantart.com/ashenangel2) Guest artist/cameo winner: [marc on deviantart](https://www.deviantart.com/madkingmarc)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hey guys, as always, thanks so much for reading! Sorry that this chapter is so long. I wanted to write a short scene from every day of the week and accidently added too much detail. And side note: this is after I deleted three scenes. Yikes. Someone please stop me XD. Hope I haven’t A) bitten off more than I can chew with all the sub-plots and, B) confused everyone. So if the chapter needs a rewrite to make sense, let me know.
> 
> Anyways, I’d like to introduce the winners of the Cameo contest from Chapter 4: Cloudskiez and marc.
> 
> 1st Place Winner! Cloudskies appears as Keira in the ‘Happenstance on Thursday’ scene: check out her Tumblr @ https://cloudedskiez.tumblr.com/. She’s absolutely an amazing person and loads of fun. Alex and I have both been very blessed to meet her.
> 
> 2nd Place Winner! marc’s (aka. MadKingMarc) OC Gale makes an appearance in the ‘Crush Crisis on Wednesday’ scene: check out MadKingMarc’s OC design @ https://www.deviantart.com/madkingmarc/art/Gale-848970145. They’re an incredible artist as well as a blessing to work with.
> 
> Much love and thanks to Cloudskies and marc for your contribution to this story. <3<3<3


	6. Chapter 6, Take No Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They sit in silence for a moment, too out of breath to hold a conversation. Or perhaps the atmosphere between them is still too emotionally charged. Since meeting Lance, Keith can say one thing with absolute certainty: their relationship is mercurial and volatile. Liable to change at the drop of a hat. But that doesn't mean they can’t make a good team. Because he’s seen that too. 
> 
> “So are we friends again?” Keith asks after a minute. For the first time today, he’s a little hesitant.
> 
> Lance gives him a look that he can't quite figure out. “That depends. I need you to answer one question…”
> 
> “Shoot.”
> 
> “Why did you ignore my texts yesterday?”

# Chapter 6, Take No Shit 

When Monday morning rolls around again, Keith rediscovers the age-old urge to murder his alarm clock. Because it’s 7:25 AM and Ricky Nelson should _not_ be playing so loudly at this hour. He lives in a retirement trailer park, for crying out loud! Even the company bugle boy doesn’t sound reveille till at _least_ nine. 

“Fuck mornings,” Keith grouses.

He slams his fist down on the top of his alarm clock to make it shut up. It crumples inward under his hand. _Oops_. Fucking mermaid strength. Fucking mornings. Fucking _hell_.

Keith gives himself another fifteen minutes to sleep. He rolls over in bed, accidently coming face to face with a pile of paint tubes he should probably _not_ be sleeping with. He sleeps another twenty before he starts awake again. His first instinct is to look at his alarm clock for the time, but…

“Fuck, I smashed it.”

Reaching for his phone instead, Keith realizes that he forgot to charge it last night. And the night before that. And probably the one before that. Well shit. Now he doesn’t know what time it is, but whatever time it is, it’s probably _late._ Which means Keith should have been up ages ago. Ages ago if he plans to go mermaid and swim with the dolphins that is.

He finds it’s easier to connect with the animals in his natural form; and building that connection between them is important to his job. Keith isn’t as well studied or socially adept as Lance is and he’s pretty sure he’d never be able to form a bond with them at all if not for his telepathic abilities. Lance has one up on him when it comes to non-verbal communication. Because _Lance_ actually studied psychology and behavioral communication. Keith did not. So if he wants to keep up, Keith has to go mermaid and cheat.

Which means he needs to get up ASAP.

‘ _Well, better late than never_.’ Keith makes a go at jumping out of bed, which turns out to be another bad decision in a long list of bad decisions. His legs get tangled in the blanket as he tries to get out of bed. He trips. Faceplants actually. The impact of which shakes the whole trailer violently and a jar of dirty paintbrushes falls off its perch.

“Poseidon almighty,” he curses under his breath.

Keith pushes himself back up onto his feet only to trip over the corner of one of his paintings. Seriously, who thought letting an artist—who also happens to be a mermaid with permanent ‘land-legs’—live in a dinky little trailer was a good idea? Probably some dumbass. But in the end, he does make it all the way across the trailer to the bathroom. 

With a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, he gets a pot of water boiling on the stovetop and searches the cupboard for a clean travel mug. Finding one, he sets it atop a stack of canvases leaning precariously against one wall of the trailer. He pulls the coconut cream and instant coffee out of the mini fridge, then digs through one of his three laundry baskets—the one mentally categorized as ‘mostly clean’—for his Dolphin Crew tee-shirt.

“Ah shit.”

The water is boiling over on the stove. Keith sticks his bedhead through the shirt and leaves it dangling around his neck as he reaches onehanded for the stove. He dumps an indiscriminate amount of instant coffee into the bottom of his mug as well as an unknown amount of coconut cream, before tipping the scalding water sideways into the mix. Hell in a cup. But it’ll do the trick.

Four minutes later, Keith is jogging down the cranky steps of his trailer to the car. His keys are still in the ignition as usual but it’s unfortunate he forgot to put the windows up last night. Now there’s freezing morning dew on his seat and his butt is cold.

Keith breaks several traffic laws on his way to work. And just to be edgy, fixes his bedhead in the rearview mirror to the offbeat of _LA Devotee_ by Panic at the Disco. When he finally pulls into the parking lot at the aquarium, he discovers that he’s a lot faster at getting ready than he thought. Not even Shiro’s car is here which means he’s earlier than early. _Good_.

Because Keith is not a morning person so much as he is a complete asshole, he purposely parks his car crookedly in Shiro’s spot. And takes the keys with him.

Meanwhile, Lance is having a very different sort of morning…

The alarm on his phone went off at 7:13 AM; precisely calculated to give him enough time to shower, go through his basic skincare routine, eat breakfast, and get to work on time. Lance learned back in his sophomore year at Pasco Hernando that he needs to meticulously organize every aspect of his life because his brain is such a fucking funhouse that he can’t afford not to. In other words, with his wild over-imaginative mind, Lance doesn’t have time to waste on a disorganized bedroom. He tried that and it doesn’t work. He’ll just forget where he put things, and forget his schedule, and forget why he even set an alarm in the first place.

Perhaps this is why Lance does _not_ trip on his way out of bed. There’s nothing to trip over. Because Lance keeps his room clean and his clothes off the floor.

Walking slowly across the room, Lance stretches his arms over his head and yawns. His loft may not have some of the necessities like a door or _stairs_ —the ladder is a death-trap by the way—but it does have one perk, Lance has his own bathroom. Stripping with indifferent monotony, he jumps in the shower and goes through his morning routine still half asleep. Everything is muscle memory at this point; from yanking the towel off the shower rod, to his skincare routine, to meeting Hunk in the kitchen for coffee. Everything has a place, and everything is in its place.

If Lance is having a rough morning, it’s all Keith’s fault. But then again, it always is these days.

He glances down at his phone even though he’s given up hope of Keith texting him back.

**[Yesterday 4:44 PM]**

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Hey man, I know this week was a little rocky. I guess that’s probably mostly my fault. So sorry about that. But hey, if you’ve got some time tonight, would you want to play a round of trivia? The Disney app added a round on voice actors

**[6:30 PM]**

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Keith?

Nothing.

But it’s not like Lance was expecting there to be. Keith is giving him the silent treatment. Just like he did on Friday when he left after the show without a word. At least Ezor stuck around long enough to tell everyone they were fantastic and that she was excited for her chance to be up there with them on the stage. Because Ezor is a _nice_ person. She’s a _good_ co-worker. But Keith is an asshole and Lance doesn’t know why he even bothered to send those stupid texts in the first place. Because all _that_ accomplished was putting him in a bad mood and ruining what might have been a pretty darn good Sunday night.

With a final huff of anger, Lance pushes all his hurt and anxious thoughts of Keith back down into the black hole where they belong. He shoves his phone into his back pocket and tries _not_ to stomp down the ladder; his morning is bad enough without waking Pidge up, thank you very much.

“Good morning,” says Hunk with a smile when Lance walks into the kitchen, “didn’t feel like making anything fancy today. We’re both having cereal.”

“That’s fine, Hunk. Thanks.”

Lance walks over to the coffee maker without another word and pours himself a nice tall cup complete with a little vanilla, the perfect amount of cream, and a lot of sugar. A good cup of coffee is the best way to start your day. Lance learned that from his mother. And Anna-Maria McClain has never been wrong about _anything_. So he takes his coffee over to the kitchen table and sits down.

“You OK buddy?” Hunk asks, “you seem a little subdued this morning.” He slides a bowl of Fruit-Loops Lance’s way.

“Yeah. Just stayed up too late last night.”

Hunk gives him a look. It’s the ‘I know you better than you do’ look that only the very best of friends are ever allowed to give. “Waiting for Keith to text you back?”

Lance wilts as the swell of his overactive mind comes crashing right back down again. “Yeah well, he’s a dick anyway so it doesn’t really matter.”

“Maybe he just didn’t charge his phone,” Hunk suggests, “that sounds like a Keith thing to do.”

“Don’t try to make excuses for him, Hunk. He’s ignoring me and you know it.”

“No, actually I think it’s a pretty even money bet that he just forgot to charge his phone.”

“He always gets back to me. Usually his response time kinda sucks, I’ll give you that, but he always answers in the end. Except for last night because he’s a _dick._ ” Lance takes an angry bite of his breakfast, acutely aware of Hunk’s unimpressed but resigned stare.

Shuffling and the scrape of another coffee mug against the table indicates that Hunk is now sitting beside him. “Promise you’ll talk to him today. You know, like an actual adult? Because Pidge and I can’t take any more of this tension between the two of you.”

“Yeah, yeah I’ll try. But if he’s a jerk, I will not be held accountable for my actions,” Lance declares.

“ _Lance…_ ” Hunk warns.

“I said I’ll try, OK.”

“OK.”

And that is the end of the discussion. They eat in relative silence while Hunk’s phone sits on the tabletop playing YouTube clips from _Friends_. Lance is still anxious. His stomach is in a little knot; not one so tight that he can’t eat, but one just big enough to sit heavily where it shouldn’t. He feels things acutely, and a lot of the time he wishes he didn’t; but he has a best friend that’s always there to make things just a little better. So he can laugh at Joey and Chandler and pretend for the next four minutes that his insides aren’t sinking like led.

He takes the Mini Cooper to work and leaves the Thunderbird for Hunk and Pidge. Pulling into the aquarium parking lot at 7:52, he discovers that both Keith and Shiro are already there. Keith’s car is parked horribly in Shiro’s spot and Shiro’s Jeep is parked sideways behind it. Shiro is so passive aggressive sometimes, it’s hilarious. But also, Keith deserved that.

The morning breeze coming off the water wakes Lance up all the way as he steps out of his car and heads down the pathway back to the HQ hut. When he swings the hut door open, he expects to be greeted with silence. What he does _not_ expect is to hear the shower running.

Lance rounds the corner and edges into the shower room. Sue him, he’s curious because who would be taking a shower this early in the morning? No one’s even had time to get in the water yet or to do anything else that would require them to shower. For fuck sake, the opening shift hasn’t even _started_ yet.

A thin layer of lukewarm steam roles over the room from the last shower. Beneath the curtain, Lance sees a pair of pale feet covered in, what appear at a distance, to be little red and pink sequins that sparkle in the low morning light. He squints at them. If those are sequins, then they’re _very_ misshapen. Lance takes a step or two closer, cursing his affinity for getting distracted by shiny things and his inability to let well enough alone. But as he approaches, the sequins disappear from the feet and Lance wonders if it hadn’t been just a trick of the light.

The water shuts off and Lance doesn’t have even a second to get his wits about him before a hand shoves back the shower curtain and Keith is standing there in his short swim trunks with a towel held up against his front. His wet hair is pushed off his face so Lance gets a clear view of his big dark eyes as they widen a little in genuine surprise.

 _Oh fuck_.

Lance isn’t sure if he said that out loud or not but somehow, he doesn’t think it matters. Because for the second time _ever,_ Keith is just as surprised and speechless as he is. He blinks; once, twice, thrice. Keith’s face is almost as red as the sparkles on his feet, and Lance suddenly gets the feeling he said that out loud. Or he might as well have because Keith does the whole mind-reading shtick, right? Yeah, somehow that is _not_ a very helpful thought.

 _Oh fuck_.

“Um Lance, do you mind…?” Keith is wrapping the towel better around himself with one hand and reaching for his uniform with the other.

Lance’s face heats up and it has nothing to do with the steam. It’s embarrassing. And totally not cool to just stand in the middle of the shower room staring. When his brain finally catches up with the awkwardness of the situation, Lance goes into overdrive. Slamming his hands over his eyes, he shouts a little too dramatically, “what are you doing in the shower?”

“Um…getting clean,” Keith says dryly.

“Why? What were you _doing?_ ” Lance demands imperiously, “you’re not allowed to use the facilities before or after hours.” And yes, he can cover up his sudden embarrassment and anxiety with a little righteous book throwing. Perks of being a senior dolphin trainer.

But Keith, the troublesome bastard, just rolls his eyes. “I went for a quick swim with the dolphins.”

“WHAT! That’s definitely against the rules! I mean fucking hell Keith! What if you _drowned_?”

“ _Chill._ Shiro was babysitting me. And can you please stop staring at my legs?”

“I’m _not_ staring at your legs!” Lance shouts.

Except he totally _is_. Because Keith’s legs are just really… _sparkly_. And yeah that’s a weird thing to say, but Lance should know because he’s the fucking glitter _king_. If there’s something sparkly on the sidewalk ten yards away, he’ll spot it. So yes, he’s staring. Because Keith’s legs are _covered_ in those little red and burgundy sequins that magically disappeared from his feet. And then there’s that little detail where Keith’s legs are just damn fine in general; like objectively, they’re just perfect. Lance’s head might be starting to slip into the gutter when he finds himself simply too mesmerized by the sheer amount of _glitter_. So sparkly. But also perfect. But so sparkly.

“ _Lance_ …” Keith drawls.

“I said I’m not _staring,_ ” Lance snaps, “sheesh.”

He gets a _look_ for his troubles. And yeah, the embarrassment is strong with this one. Will he ever _no_ t fuck up in front of Keith? Probably not. It seems to be the natural order of things _._ Solution? Deflect, change the subject, make dramatic exit. In that order.

“Just get dressed, Sparkle Princess. We have an aquarium to open and dolphins to train. And as much as I’d like to do it without you, Shiro won’t let me.” Lance turns on his heel and forces himself to keep a slow even pace as he storms out of the shower room.

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid! What the actual fuck?_

Lance runs into Shiro and Rolo as he storms out of the hut. He pushes past them without a word, too caught up in the royal fuckery that is his complicated non-existent relationship with Keith. He couldn’t even list all his grievances with that guy on one hand even if he had ten fingers on it! Because first, the guy is an asshole in every sense of the word. Second, he doesn’t even have the decency to text people back when they are _dying_ of anxiety. Third, the asshole doesn’t even seem mildly appreciative of Lance’s concern for his _life_. Fourth, Shiro is taking this brother privilege thing a little _too_ far. Because must he return to the whole ‘Keith only got hired because Shiro is the program director’ thing _again?_ Apparently. Fifth, he’s a terrible student. Sixth, he can do literally _everything_ (except walk across the room). Seventh, he’s just fucking cool. Eighth, he’s hot. Ninth, he’s hot. Tenth, he’s _hot._

Checking the deck-side bulletin board, Lance finds his chore check-list and gets to work. Fortunately, he’s got the good chores—perks of being the senior trainer on duty—and he can stay _far_ away from certain sparkly mullets. Well, till 8 O’clock anyway.

* * *

One hour later, Keith joins Lance up on B Deck to work with Red.

“Put your hair up,” Lance orders.

He sounds annoyed, more with Keith’s existence in general than with his hair. So Keith flips him off. Because he’s _way_ too tired to deal with this right now.

“Well, _com’mere_ ,” Lance snaps, “we don’t have all day for you to stand around doing nothing.”

With a hair-lucky stuck between his teeth and his hair in his hands, Keith follows Lance out onto the float deck. The float deck is a plastic boardwalk that snakes across the dolphin pool. It’s bolted down on both ends for stability’s sake, but it is still just floating on the water. In other words, it isn’t the most stable surface in the world. It pitches like the deck of a boat. And that is _not_ good for Keith; not with his inability to walk on _solid_ ground. Last week, he fell off twice—much to Lance’s annoyance—and he’s not holding out much more hope for today.

Especially not since he split his mermaid tail back into legs not even two hours ago. He can still feel the irritated scales flickering uncontrollably along the legs under his wetsuit. It’s fucking uncomfortable. His legs feel like jelly, scrubbed raw on the insides, and his head is still spinning. Truth is, Keith is in pretty bad shape since going mermaid this morning. His legs are killing him, and his head is throbbing behind his eyes from keeping up telepathic communication with the animals.

So, when he almost topples into the water not even six feet out on the float deck, he isn’t really all that surprised. In fact, he expects it. Unfortunately, he almost takes Lance out with him. As he stumbles backward, he collides with the body behind him, and then they’re both going down. They don’t fall off the deck per se, but they don’t exactly stay on either. Keith suddenly finds himself sprawled on his back atop Lance’s torso, one foot in the water, hands slammed uselessly on the deck. Lance is in worse shape as it was his body that became the buffer between Keith and the hard deck; his entire lower half going for an unforeseen swim.

“Get off, fatso,” Lance demands, “dios mío, Keith!”

Keith doesn’t apologize, even though he probably should. He just gets up and opts to pretend it never happened. He doesn’t offer to help Lance up either, even though he _definitely_ should.

Lance picks himself up, reaching for the bucket of ice and fish that he’d been carrying when they fell. “First the silent treatment, then you try to _kill_ me! Just what is _with_ you?”

 _‘I have a headache the size of a killer whale, my tail got ripped in half about 80 minutes ago, and you came to work already pissed at me. Other than that…’_ deep breath. “Nothing. What’s _your_ damage?”

 _“My_ damage?” Lance hisses incredulously, “you tried to kill me after ignoring me _all weekend_!”

 _‘All weekend?_ ’ Keith doesn’t have a clue what’s going on. And frankly, with his headache, he doesn’t have any hope of figuring it out _._ “What?...What are you _talking_ about?”

“What am I talking about? What am _I_ talking about?”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Yes. _Yes._ ”

“Are you mocking me? Are we saying everything in twos now?”

“I don’t know, did you suddenly decide to grow up or something?” says Keith, just managing to keep up his façade of indifference.

“ _Grow up?_ ” Lance’s face twists into something angry and ugly. “Fine, let’s play pretend then. You like pretend? Let’s pretend we’re dolphin trainers; I’m your fabulous teacher and you’re my fucking asshole student...”

“What are we? Nine?” Keith demands, patience at an end.

“Yes! Apparently, we are! And now we’re going to train dolphins because adulting is _clearly_ too much for us.”

“Whatever.”

“ _Whatever!_ ”

Lance goes silent. The kind of angry silent that’s uncomfortable and stressful. And it’s pissing Keith off because he just doesn’t understand what Lance’s _issue_ is. The guy can be so cheerful and friendly with everyone else—he, Hunk, and Pidge always seem to be having the time of their lives—but he just can’t seem to loosen up around Keith. Everything is a competition between them, but not the fun kind of competition it used to be.

Keith misses the old Lance. The one that played trivia with him at midnight. The one that goaded him into volleyball. The one that _demanded_ he join the Dolphin Family on the boardwalk. He misses the Lance that wanted to be his friend. But that’s not the Lance he gets to work with.

The Lance he works with is a drill sergeant. A boss. A man who will under no circumstances accept less than the best. Not from Keith. And certainly not from himself. The Lance he works with always seems to have something to prove.

Keith bottles his frustration, impatience, and regret as best he can, and walks further out onto the float deck. Reaching what is approximately the middle of the deck, he stops and turns to face out over the water. The morning sun sparkles on the surface, shimmering like flaming gold on the glassy waves. There are dark shapes moving below the surface, barely discernible beneath the reflected glare of the sun, for the moment too blurry for him to make out individually. Keith taps his fingers against his temple, reaching out telepathically for the animals. He finds Red. And Azula, Coco and Chanelle, and Stitch.

Behind him, Lance stops as well and sets the bucket of fish down at his side. He slaps his hand on the surface of the water three times at even intervals; the signal for the dolphins to come to him. When five dolphins pop their heads out of the water just in front of the float deck, Lance smiles at them. His face softens as he tells them ‘good morning’ and kneels at the edge of the water to pet their heads. 

_‘Maye if I were a dolphin, we could be friends_ ,’ Keith thinks; halfway amused, halfway bitter.

Meanwhile, Lance is in the process of sending the dolphins back on their merry way, all except for Red. Because Red still needs to get up to speed. Keith has many things to say about that—for starters, he wants Red to go back to her pod—but for the time being, they’ll both have to cooperate.

If Keith has learned anything from working at the aquarium, it’s that humans are very inventive when it comes to training animals. As a mermaid, Keith has only to communicate directly to the dolphins’ brains; they understand one another’s languages. He _tells_ them what to do and they do it.

But humans have another method entirely. It’s a little impressive how they’ve found a way to work around the language barriers. But in Keith’s professional opinion, it is way too complicated. There are _steps_. Many, _many_ steps.

The whole idea behind Operant Conditioning and Successive Approximation (these words are unnecessarily scientific by the way) is to reward the animal for exhibiting a sought for behavior.

  * **Step one:** learn behavior. This part takes a while. Basically, the trainer makes gesture with a target pole—a stick with a buoy on the end—and waits for the animal to get it. Example: Lance holds the target pole over the water and waits for Red to leap up and touch it with her nose. (In Keith-speak, step one equals waiting for the dolphin to smarten up).
  * **Step two:** the bridge. That’s when the trainer uses a verbal signal to let the animal know they got the right move; that it is this particular behavior that is earning the Positive Reinforcement. (In Keith-speak, step two equals: say, ‘good job’).
  * **Step three:** Positive Reinforcement. (In Keith-speak that roughly translates too: just give the dolphin the goddamn fish already).



OK, yes, he’s impressed. Lance doesn’t need to give himself a telepathic headache when training dolphins. But his method just takes so _long_. And Keith isn’t a ‘slow and stead wins the race’ kind of guy.

Truth be told, he thinks this is all pretty redundant, and it probably shows on his face.

“ _What?_ ” Lance demands, “am I _boring_ you?”

They’ve already been through this before; twice just last week. So, the question is rhetorical. Keith answers it anyways. “There’s just so many steps, and we keep doing the same things every day. It’s a little tedious.”

Lance is visibly insulted. Which is too bad because he’s the one who asked for Keith’s input. Lance should know by now that Keith doesn’t pull his punches. “Tedious huh?” he says, “well tell me _Dolphin Whisperer_ , do you think you can do better?”

Keith folds his arms across his chest and faces Lance head on. He’s had enough of this bullshit and his patience is at its end. “Not better. Just faster. If you’d actually just _try_ to help me do things my way, I could get it done in half the time.”

That’s when Lance explodes. And it’s almost satisfying to watch because at least now Keith knows for a fact that he is directly responsible for whatever happens next. At least now, he isn’t just reacting to Lance’s mood swings, he’s pushing them.

“No you can’t!” Lance shouts, “you don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. You don’t know how to train dolphins because you’ve never _learned._ So you can’t just walk in here and assume you’re better at it than me!”

“How would you know that?” Keith snaps back, “you never give me a chance to show you!”

“Never give _you_ a chance?” Lance scoffs, throwing the target pole down on the float deck, “ _you’re_ the one that never listens! _”_

“I listen fine!”

“You’re an _artist_ , Keith, not a trainer. What makes you think you know more about training dolphins than me?”

“Why don’t you let me try things my way and find out!”

“That’s it! Both of you come over here!” Shiro shouts from the sidelines.

Keith sighs. They’re in trouble. Now he’s starting to understand why Pidge calls his brother ‘Dolphin Dad’.

“Now you’ve done it,” Lance hisses over his shoulder as he grabs their gear and starts walking back to B Deck.

Keith just rolls his eyes, not bothering to correct his errant colleague. Instead, he reluctantly follows the man back to the poolside deck where Shiro is waiting. Arguing with Lance is apparently fruitless.

As is arguing with Shiro when he’s in Navy mode. While Keith is never one to be easily chastised, he is at least somewhat quick to accept his fate when punished. Which is why when Shiro sentences him and Lance to clean the penguin exhibit together, he trudges off with minimal whining. However, he was also quick to point out that sending him to ‘Time Out’ with Lance _isn’t_ going to solve their bickering. Of course, Shiro ignored that _totally valid point_ and sent them anyway.

Which is how Keith finds himself scraping penguin poop off a bunch of synthetic rocks with a bucket of disinfectant and a useless scrub-brush. Lance was quick to claim the hose for himself and took the easy job of washing away the less stubborn gunk from the deck. He’s also giving Keith the silent treatment again, avoiding any and all verbal communication and eye contact. It’s annoying as hell. Keith is not a patient person—he’s far too confrontational—but for now, he’ll let it alone because he needs a minute to think.

The thing is, Keith _doesn’t_ understand what is happening. He knows Lance is angry at him—and yes, he was a bit of a dick back on the float deck—but Lance’s problem with him started _before_ all this. Before they ran into each other this morning. Before Monday even _started_. Come to think of it, Lance’s problem with him started that night on the boardwalk when Keith told everyone he wanted to be a dolphin trainer. And Keith thinks he might know why.

Everyone at the aquarium has been talking behind his back. They’re all saying that he only got the aquarium job because of Shiro. Keith knows this for a fact. They don’t think it’s quite fair. But unlike everyone else, Lance takes it _personally_.

Keith has put that much together.

While Keith doesn’t for a moment think Lance is ready to face the music—he’s got the blindfold of disbelief shoved so far up his ass it’d take a miracle to remove—he strongly considers forcing the issue: were it not for the aquarium’s guests and tourists, he’s really tempted to just take off his wetsuit and turn into a mermaid then and there. That would probably solve most of their current issues. At least then Lance would be forced to hear him out about the whole dolphin whispering and telepathy thing. But it would probably also open up a whole _new_ can of worms and he can see Lance avoiding him for different reasons.

Keith sighs. He doesn’t know how to fix this. Mostly because he never does anything without being a dick about it. For over two weeks now, Keith has told himself to play nice, to let Lance have his space. But…

 _‘To hell with it!’_ he snaps at himself.

Keith stands up abruptly and throws the scrub-brush angrily into the bucket. Disinfectant splashes over the edge and onto his foot; spooked penguins scatter in every direction. Keith doesn’t give a fuck. He marches over the rocks, across the deck, and plants himself in front of Lance.

“What is your problem with me?” he snaps.

Lance’s head suddenly whips upward at the outburst. “I’m busy Keith. And you’re making a scene.”

“I think you have me mistaken for someone who gives a fuck. Answer the question.”

Lance ignores him, face contorted with anger, hatred, shame, and sorrow; his fluid and open expressions almost give Keith whiplash. But he presses forward anyway. “Well?”

And then the guy sprays him full in the face with the hose. “Leave me _alone,”_ Lance snaps, “you’ve got penguin shit to clean.”

Unfortunately for Lance, no amount of water is going to dissuade a stubborn bastard like Keith. It only makes him mad. And if Keith is a dick when he’s trying to be nice, then he’s a full-on douche bag when he’s pissed. “Are you jealous of me?” he demands. Because if Lance won’t put the cards on the table, then Keith will. “Are you mad at me for getting hired because…”

Now Lance really explodes, pressing his thumb over the nozzle of the hose to increase water pressure. “You’re such an _asshole!_ You’re an arrogant little fuck!”

“Are you mad at me because I’m a dolphin trainer now?”

“Fuck you!”

“Are you mad that I’m catching up to…”

“You’re only here because Shiro is your _brother._ No other aquarium would hire you as a trainer. That’s a fact!”

“I know that!” There it is, out in the open. Now Keith figures he’s got a shot. “I know I shouldn’t be here. I know there’s nothing on my resume. I know Shiro is the only person who would even _look_ at me. I know!” Now Lance is looking at him with wide blue eyes, mouth dropped slightly open in shock. Keith rubs at his temples as he tries to banish the telepathic headache he earned this morning. “I know all of that Lance. And I’m not trying to be better than you, I’m trying to _prove_ something to you. I’m…I have something to offer this place.”

“Yeah? Like talking to dolphins?” Lance snaps. But his voice has lost most of its heat, and the hose now hangs limply in his hand.

“Maybe,” Keith allows, “maybe I _can_ talk to dolphins. Maybe that’s how I plan to train Red in half the time it usually takes. Maybe I _am_ different. Whatever else you believe about me, that much should be pretty fucking clear.”

“You’re _delusional_ anyway _._ ”

Keith quirks an eyebrow at Lance as he folds his arms over his chest. “More delusional than a senior dolphin trainer trying to prove something to an artist who only got hired because his brother runs the ship?”

“How did you..?” Lance cuts himself off and scoffs, “you’re such a dick.”

“I know,” Keith almost laughs, “I know everything.”

“You’re also arrogant as fuck.”

Keith just shakes his head, exhausted. “You don’t have anything to prove to me. I already know how awesome you are. You’re awesome. When I came into work early this morning—you know, when you found me in the shower—I came in to spend some time with the dolphins because I was trying to catch up to _you_. I can’t bond with them the way you can; I don’t understand watching behaviors and all that psychological bullshit. What you do is amazing. And I may never learn it. So I have to make my own path. It’s all I _can_ do.”

Lance surprises him by putting a hand on his shoulder. “You’re a smart guy Keith Kogane. I’m sure you don’t have to come in early _too_ … _penguins escaping!”_

Whipping his head around to follow Lance’s pointing finger, Keith discovers that yes, the penguins are escaping. On the other side of the exhibit, across the pool, there’s a group of about four teenage boys breaking open the enclosure gate. Two at least are culpable in the actual crime, one even _inside_ the exhibit trying to usher some of the stupider penguins out into the park. The other two are laughing, egging them on, and getting the whole thing on video with their phones. But while Keith is pretty keen on setting the animals free, this isn’t how he meant for it to happen. This isn’t concern over animal welfare; _this i_ s hooliganism and idiocy. 

“HEY!” Lance shouts striding across the deck with authority and purpose, “close that gate before I have you thrown out of the aquarium!”

When faced with an irate Lance McClain, the boys bolt. Hightailing it towards the park exit, laughing all the way. Meanwhile, Lance slams the gate closed with enough force to shake the whole fence. Unfortunately, the damage is done. 

“Keith!” he shouts, “I need your help! They let five penguins loose!”

 _Oops_. Keith jogs to the door at the back of the enclosure and let’s himself out. Lance is already running about after the penguins like a headless chicken. It’s hilarious. The guests' reactions are didactic; people are either laughing or screaming as they dodge attacks from the terrified aquatic birds. Now _this_ is a scene. Unlike the seals, dolphins, and Suki the Killer Whale, the penguins aren’t trained. Lance has no hope of corralling them on his own. But Keith does. Headache be damned, he has work to do. 

“Lance,” he shouts, “I’m going to round up the penguins for you. Just get ready to pick them up and toss them back in the pool.”

For once, Lance doesn’t argue. He doesn’t tell Keith he’s arrogant or nuts. He just listens, probably too stressed to do anything else. 

Pushing past the burning behind his eyes and the throbbing in his temples, Keith reaches out for the penguins with his mind. A sudden screeching fills his head as he connects with the terrified animals. Which is frankly just painful. But Keith pushes through. He takes control of their minds and muscles and instructs them to line up for Lance. They have no choice but to obey. One by one, they waddle over to Lance and he tosses them in. 

The control and concentration it takes is exhausting. Keith doesn’t even realize the whole debacle is over until he feels a hand gripping his shoulder. 

“You OK, dude?” Lance asks, looking down at him with concern and confusion. Which is when Keith realizes he’s sitting on the deck with his back to the fence. 

He forces a smile. “Believe me now?”

Lance gives him an incredulous look as he hauls Keith back to his feet. “I cannot believe...you know what? You’re psychic. I can believe you’re psychic. That’s a thing. OK?”

 _Well, close enough_. “So about Red then?”

“Corran!” Lance suddenly shouts excitedly. 

“No, Red.”

“No, Corran is coming! And he looks very unhappy!”

Keith must be more out of it than he thought because he has literally no clue what Lance is talking about. “Huh?”

“Corran is going to murder us!”

Lance takes off running. When Keith just stares at him senselessly, he jogs back, grabs him by the hand, and starts pulling Keith along. 

“Lance McClain!” Corran shouts, “Keith! What in the Quiznack is going on?”

“Run!” Lance shouts. 

Which is when _something_ finally clicks, and Keith feels his legs pick up the pace. He can’t match Lance’s speed—the guy is a fucking gazelle or something—but he does manage not to trip over himself. Lance’s grip on his hand never loosens as they sprint in the opposite direction of the Mustachio Wonder, towards the gravel pathway behind the buildings and along the water. They don’t stop until Lance drags them both behind the electrical hut’s backup generator. 

Keith sits cross legged on the gravel, back to the generator, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath and clear his splotchy vision. Beside him, and a little to his right, Lance is crouched on the balls of his feet, forearms resting on his knees. 

“That was close,” Lance breaths, “you’re a really slow runner, you know that?”

“It’s all relative,” Keith says with a noncommittal shrug. 

Lance snorts. “OK, Smartass. OK.”

They sit in silence for a moment, too out of breath to hold a conversation. Or perhaps the atmosphere between them is still too emotionally charged. Since meeting Lance, Keith can say one thing with absolute certainty: their relationship is mercurial and volatile. Liable to change at the drop of a hat. But that doesn't mean they can’t make a good team. Because he’s seen that too. 

“So are we friends again?” Keith asks after a minute. For the first time today, he’s a little hesitant.

Lance gives him a look that he can't quite figure out. “That depends. I need you to answer one question…”

“Shoot.”

“Why did you ignore my texts yesterday?”

Keith is honestly confused. “Huh? What texts?”

Lance looks exasperated now. “The ones I sent you yesterday.”

“I haven’t charged my phone all weekend,” Keith says slowly, “and before you say ‘that’s bullshit’, I don’t have social media or friends or anything. So there’s no reason for me to be on my phone…”

“You don’t have _friends?_ ” Lance demands.

Keith shrugs. “As you said, I’m a dick.”

“OK,” Lance shuffles around in his crouch so that he’s fully facing Keith. He holds up one hand with his pinky extended. “If you pinky swear you didn’t see my texts, I’ll believe you.”

Keith eyes the outstretched finger suspiciously. Or that’s what he’s aiming for. He probably looks more confused than anything. “I didn’t ignore your messages, or may I fall on Poseidon’s trident.”

Exasperated but in kind of a fond way, Lance hooks his pinky around Keith’s and bobs their joined hands. “Let’s just do this, yeah? No sense dying on a trident over a couple of texts.” He grins.

And Keith returns the smile. “So we’re friends?”

“Duh!” Lance chuckles, “we’re better than friends! We’re partners in crime! Joined at the hip. If you die, I die; because Corran is fucking _terrifying_ when he’s on a witch-hunt.”

Keith bursts out laughing at that and Lance has to clamp a hand over his mouth. When he’s no longer in danger of giving away their position, Lance lets him go. “So now what?”

“When the coast is clear, we sneak back to the hut,” says Lance, tipping sideways to peer around the side of the generator. Apparently, the coast is _not_ clear because he slinks back into the shade and plops down beside Keith to wait out Corran’s wrath. When he looks back at Keith, he’s grinning. “Also, tonight you owe me a game of trivia.”

“Huh?”

“You’ll see why when you _charge your PHONE_.”

* * *

[ **Yesterday** , **4:44 PM]**

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Hey man, I know this week was a little rocky. I guess that’s probably mostly my fault. So sorry about that. But hey, if you’ve got some time tonight, would you want to play a round of trivia? The Disney app added a round on voice actors

**[6:30 PM]**

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Keith?

**[Today, 5:42]**

**Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Ugh, the Disney app? Why more Disney?!

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Because you’re uncultured, Keith 

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Also, as a Sparkle Princess, it’s criminal how bad your princess trivia is. Think of this as part of your education

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** About that, Sparkle Princess? Seriously?

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Yep. Your legs were all glittery in the shower this morning

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** So you WERE staring at my legs!

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Ackfuckyouarghhh!

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Not the point!

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Yes the point

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** NO!

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Yes

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** NO!

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Yes

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** NO NO NO NO! NO to infinity!

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** WTF? Are you nine?

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Are you a secret Sparkle Princess? B)

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** No. I’m a mermaid

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** A sparkle mermaid princess?

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** WFT?

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** But I’m actually curious tho, why WERE your legs all glittery?

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Umm…because my scales wouldn’t go back in

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Obviously

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** But really, what was that?

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** I’m a mermaid

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Fine, don’t tell me. But I’m just going to keep calling you Sparkles then B)

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Please don’t

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** What about Princess?

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** No

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** B)

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Didn’t you want to play trivia or something?

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Right, log in Princess, and let’s get this party started!

* * *

Shiro doesn’t know how these things happen; he really doesn’t. One minute he’s minding his own business—filling out requisition forms—and the next, he’s called into an emergency meeting by his boss because two _numbskull_ s on his team let some penguins loose. It’s days like these when Shiro misses the Navy; drill sergeants, bad rations, seasickness, and all. Because right now, he’d like to be _anywhere_ but Zarkon’s office. As the Vice President of the aquarium plays YouTube clips from yesterday’s fiasco, he imagines himself throwing up back in the galley of the _USS Kennedy_. His only consolation is that the culprits, ie. Lance and Keith, are there with him.

Apparently, yesterday turned out to be way more eventful than anticipated. When Shiro sent klance—the dysfunctional duo—off to clean up the penguin enclosure, he had not foreseen this outcome. 

Shiro has to screw up his Pokerface. Because there, on Zarkon’s computer monitor, is a video of Lance and Keith chasing escaped penguins around the outdoor park exhibits. Or rather Lance is chasing the penguins: screaming his head off, waving his arms dramatically, and being generally hilarious. While Keith on the other hand just stands there with his eyes closed, two fingers pressed to his temple, calling the penguins back to the enclosure like a siren. The video was an internet hit _overnight_ , going viral on several platforms. Which is worrying for two reasons.

Reason one: unwanted publicity for the aquarium. The animal rights activists are all up in arms, declaring that the Altea Bay Aquarium’s staff and facilities are too unequipped to care for their animals. But that, they can handle. Reason number two is a bit more complicated, the implications of which don’t bear thinking about. Because reason number two is this: now there is video footage of Keith using his telepathic abilities.

_‘Stupid, stupid, stupid!’_

While Keith has never been that careful to hide his inhumanity, Shiro always assumed he’d have more sense than _that._ He’s certainly clever enough not to get himself videotaped using his natural mermaid abilities. Or so Shiro had always thought. But then, Keith has always had a knack for proving him wrong.

Aside from the lines dedicated to Lance’s physique and Keith’s pretty face, the comment section is _full_ of theories about why the penguins lined up, of their own volition, to get tossed back into the pool. Most people attribute it to extreme discipline and good training. Which is a relief. But there are the conspiracy theorists who have more interesting explanations; one person even went so far as to suggest that Keith is actually part _alien_.

When the video has run its course, Zarkon turns the monitor back around to face himself. He leans back in his chair and stares across the desk over prayerful fingers. “Comments?” he asks slowly.

“That shirt doesn’t go with that tie, sir.” Keith crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in his seat as well, posture completely relaxed as he crosses one ankle over his knee. Shiro wants to facepalm and Lance looks like he might be having an aneurysm.

Zarkon quirks an eyebrow, insulted, but almost impressed. “About the _video_ , Kogane,” he clarifies without the pretense of patience.

Keith shrugs. “The camera adds ten pounds, but at least they caught my good side.”

“Shut up Kit, for the love of god,” Shiro warns.

Zarkon ignores them and instead turns to Lance. “And what about you, McClain? Anything to say for yourself?”

“Umm…” Lance raises two tentative fingers as he looks between Zarkon and Shiro, “it won’t happen again..?”

A heavy hand suddenly slams against the desk causing Lance to jump in his seat. “Of course it won’t happen again!” Zarkon declares loudly, “because you two moon-bats aren’t going to _let_ it happen again! Or need I remind you that this establishment is already headed for the gutter _without_ any of your shenanigans? I will not let a couple of hooligans masquerading as dolphin trainers put this place on the highway to hell over some petty rivalry!”

“Mind if I quote you on that, sir?” Keith asks dryly.

Zarkon explodes. “I am _not_ playing games! You two are going to learn to work together and pull your weight around here or it’s bye-bye aquarium and hello unemployment. Am I understood?”

“Yes sir,” says Lance, properly chastised. Shiro feels sorry for the kid. He honestly does. Maybe he’ll buy Lance an ice-cream or a Lyn-Lyn after work. 

“What about you, Kogane?” Zarkon asks, turning to Shiro’s rogue younger brother, “do _you_ understand?”

“Sure.”

“Good.” Zarkon seems to relax in his seat a bit, now leaning forward with his elbows on the desk. He rubs a hand across his forehead as he pauses apparently for thought. For once, Shiro sympathizes with his boss’s exasperation. When Zarkon seems to have recovered himself—or perhaps pulled the stick far enough out of his ass—he continues. “Look boys, Takashi tells me you’re two of the best trainers on the team. We need you to step up. The dolphin program is a mess, the whole aquarium is a mess, and there isn’t room for anymore screwing off. I know you care about the animals so act like it. Take responsibility.”

“Yes sir,” says Lance. He looks like he kind of wants to cry and Shiro reaches across Keith’s chair to give his hand a little squeeze.

“Takashi,” Zarkon says.

“Sir.”

“If these kids are really as good as you’ve said, then I think it’s time to make some changes to the program.”

“What _kind_ of changes?” Shiro eyes his boss with suspicion. They already made huge changes two weeks ago when he hired Keith and Ezor. What more could Zarkon _possibly_ want? How much more change can they even _handle?_ Shiro isn’t certain that any more alterations to their program won’t give his team whiplash.

But Zarkon takes no notice of his obvious apprehension. Rather, he looks Shiro sternly in the eye and continues. “Your team has no manager…” Shiro opens his mouth to protest, but Zarkon cuts him off, “there _is_ no manager because _you_ do everything. _Everything_. And you’ve done a remarkable job Takashi, but this can’t go on. I know I give you a hard time about the state the dolphin program is in, but now I’m going to give you some help. Are you ready for this? McClain here is going to be your new manager.”

Lance’s mouth drops open. “ _Me_ sir?”

“Did I stutter?” Zarkon asks.

“Sir, I know Lance can do it, but I think he would benefit from some time to process and learn some…”

Zarkon cuts Shiro off. “McClain is _going_ to be your new manager. Takashi, I’m promoting you to full time Program Director. No more of this program director, manager, trainer, custodian bullshit. I want you to get your team in order and clean up your program.” Then he rounds on Lance and Keith, “and you two are going to help him. You’re Voltron for crying out loud! You’re a team. Takashi can’t be the only one acting like an adult out there!”

“Ouch,” says Keith dryly.

“And _you_ ,” Zarkon turns on Keith, “you are going to take over for your brother in Miss King’s clinic.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “I don’t have a veterinary nurse license.”

“I’m sure you’re _more_ than qualified to help out,” Zarkon says. There’s a hardness in his face and something conniving as he dares Keith to disagree with him. Shiro finds himself just starting to rise out of his seat when Keith speaks up.

“Did you get Allura’s permission?”

“You’re a real riot, aren’t you kid?” Zarkon deadpans. When Keith only shrugs, unperturbed, he turns back to the collective group and continues. “So, here’s how things are going to go: Takashi, you’re going to call a staff meeting tomorrow to tell your team they have a new manager on deck. And then you’re going to go sort out your program and all that paperwork I’ve been hounding you for. And you’re going to have _time_ to do this, because your brother here is going to be helping Miss King in the clinic. He’s going to be your mini-me, just like you hired him to be. And McClain is going to take good care of your team. Do you all understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes sir,” says Lance.

“Can we go now?” Keith asks.

“As long as you both understand that there will be no more escaped penguins and that you’re going to be stepping up around here, then yes, you’re free to go.”

Lance and Keith leave. Or more accurately, they bolt. But Shiro remains rooted in his seat, waiting until he and Zarkon are alone in the office before attempting to voice his concerns.

Zarkon beats him to the punch, not anticipating Shiro’s concerns, but rather expressing one of his own in a manner of speaking. “I have Corran working on getting that video off the internet, so you can rest easy about your brother on that front,” he says, turning back to a pile of papers on the desk.

 _‘Rest easy on that front?’_ Well, that sounds a little ominous; it feels like Zarkon has just splashed cold water on his insides. _‘Does he know?’_ Shiro isn’t quite sure how to ask Zarkon if he’s figured out Keith’s little secret without potentially exposing it by accident. 

“About Keith…” Shiro starts.

“What about him?”

“You can’t just stick him in the clinic. He hasn’t had the right classes; he’s not _certified_ to be working in a veterinary clinic.” And it’s true. Shiro _knows_ he has a point. Veterinary licenses don’t get handed out as party favors after all. The fact that Keith can gain the animal’s cooperation instantly and without incident—the fact that he can probably make an accurate diagnosis faster than any scan or blood test—is irrelevant. Irrelevant _unless_ Zarkon has, by some cruel twist of fate, figured out that Keith is more than what he appears to be.

But Zarkon doesn’t seem to see an issue with his meddlesome demands. “I’m not asking him to operate on the animals; I’m _asking_ him to give Allura a hand. He’ll figure out how to be useful. You did before you got your license. Or are you going to tell me you don’t think he’s special?” He looks at Shiro with his deeply calculating eyes, daring him to disagree.

 _And is that an answer to his unasked question_? Shiro isn’t sure, but he thinks it _might_ be. Not that he’s going to voice his troubled thoughts. So, to cover for his inability to process anything beside the sinking fear in his gut, he asks, “are you sure this is the right thing to do?”

“I think so,” Zarkon answers calmly, “and don’t worry about your brother. He’ll be fine.”

As soon as he leaves Zarkon, Shiro runs directly to Allura’s office behind the clinic. He can’t take a full breath of air until he bursts through her office door. Because seeing Allura behind the desk with a bagel poised halfway to her perfect lips, onehandedly typing away, he knows she’s the _only_ thing in this place that makes any goddamn sense at all.

Seeing him panting in the doorway of her office, Allura sets the bagel atop a stack of ring binders and gives him a look. Her delicate eyebrows raise ever so slightly as her blue eyes widen with confusion and concern. “Is there a ghost in the hallway I should be made aware of or did Lance put another set of fish eyeballs in the mini fridge?”

Shiro almost laughs in relief at her jest, he would too if his nerves weren’t scrubbed raw. So instead, he strides the rest of the way into her office and closes the door behind himself. “Zarkon figured out that Keith is a mermaid,” he blurts without preamble, his panic making him act more like Lance than he would ever care to admit.

For her part, Allura looks back at him dumbfounded. “What? _How?_ ”

“We were in a meeting with Zarkon—Lance, Keith, and myself—about that incident with the penguins yesterday. And apparently someone caught Keith on tape using his telepathy to get the penguins to line up and jump back into the pool. Zarkon just…that video…god why is Keith such a reckless _idiot?_ Who _else_ has figured it out?”

“Well, what did Zarkon _say_ exactly?” Allura prompts.

Shiro finally flops himself into the chair opposite hers and runs a hand through his hair. “He went through the video, chewed them both out, concluded that Lance and Keith both need to grow up and do more work around here…and then presto! The next thing I know, he’s making Lance a manager and telling me Keith is ‘more than qualified’ to help in the clinic because he’s _special!_ He figured it out, Lurra! God, I want to strangle Keith right now for being an idiot!”

Allura starts laughing, unadulterated relief and amusement reverberating off the walls of her small office.

“What?” Shiro demands, “what’s so funny?”

“ _You_ ,” she laughs, “you’re such a helicopter dad.”

“ _Excuse me?_ ” he demands.

“Zarkon thinks Keith is special, that he’ll be a help to me in the clinic. And sure, he’s basing it off some strange connection he’s seen Keith exhibit with the animals. But your first reaction is ‘Zarkon thinks Keith is a mermaid!’ I mean come _on_ Shiro, look at this as an outsider; most people would sooner submit themselves to psychiatric care than admit they think there’s a mermaid walking around the aquarium. Even to _themselves_. Trust me, Keith is fine. Zarkon may be the world’s worst boss, but he’s not some evil alien overlord looking to murder your team.”

Still a little skeptical, but feeling to some degree reassured by Allura’s logic, Shiro takes a deep breath. “You really think it’s all fine?”

“I do,” Allura insists, “when people see animals and trainers together, they don’t instantly assume the trainer is a mermaid. Hell, even if you told them Keith was a mermaid, they probably _still_ wouldn’t believe you. _I_ wouldn’t have. Not until he literally grew a _tail_ in the middle of your office.” She pushes her ice-tea across the desk for him to take a sip. “And as for making Lance a deck manager and having Keith cover for you in the clinic, I think that’s the first _good_ idea Amadeus Zarkon ever had. You need a break, Shiro. Your nerves are shot to pieces. You need ten hours of sleep and a good dinner.”

Taking a sip of Allura’s tea and listening to her words of wisdom, Shiro does start to feel a little better. Maybe he even feels silly about overreacting, but he’s going to ignore that part. “So you wanna kick me out of the clinic in favor of my little brother? _Rude_.”

Allura grins at him. “If it gets you home at a decent hour, then yes, I’d prefer working with Keith.”

* * *

Back in Shiro’s office, Lance is wearing a track in the carpet with his incessant pacing. He’s talking to himself, running a hand through his hair every now and then, and occasionally pausing to shout something unintelligible. Keith watches him silently from Shiro’s chair, feet propped up on the desk, arms folded over his belly. His eyes track Lance’s pacing back and forth across the room. He finds Lance’s theatrics amusing and a little endearing maybe. A smile edges at the corners of his lips, but he refuses to let Lance see it because he’ll just assume that Keith is enjoying his freak-out. Which isn’t exactly _wrong_ so much as it is just plain unhelpful. 

“I can’t do this! Keith, what if I can’t do this!” Lance shouts for the third or perhaps fourth time. “You know what happened with that Dolphin Show Shiro let me lead. What if this whole management thing is just a repeat of that? Keith, I’m gonna bomb this! Tell your brother making me a manager is a bad idea!”

Keith rolls his eyes. “You’ll be fine, Lance. And the show wasn’t _that_ big of a disaster.”

“How do you know? You weren’t there!” Lance screeches.

 _OK, fair point._ New approach _…_ “But Shiro put you in charge of training me and Ezor and that’s worked out OK.”

Lance turns on him. “OK? _OK!_ ” he stomps over and slams both hands down on the desktop, “have you been paying attention to anything for the last, I don’t know, _two weeks_?”

Keith feels his eyebrow raise of its own accord. “Yes. Your point is…?”

“My point is you don’t listen to me! You always go ahead and do your own thing.”

“Hey, I listen fine. I just choose to ignore you sometimes.”

“That’s my point!” Lance leans over the desk getting all up in Keith’s personal space. But unlike every other time recently, he’s not angry. He’s terrified or close to it. “Keith, if Shiro makes me a manager, nobody’ll listen to me. Things will descend into chaos, and Shiro will blame me, and I’ll get fired! I can’t get _fired_ , Keith, I love my job!”

“You’re not going to get fired, Lance,” says Keith pointedly logical as always.

“See, you’re _still_ not listening!” Lance spins away from the desk and starts pacing again. “ _Nobody_ is going to listen to me! I’m the resident goofball—I play pranks on people with the fucking hose for crying out loud—what makes Shiro think people will listen to _me?_ ”

Keith huffs out a breath of air, blowing the bangs out of his eyes temporarily. He can’t exactly promise he’ll behave himself, because that’s never going to happen. So he says the next best thing. “Well, Pidge and I will probably be impossible to wrangle, but then we give Shiro a hard time so I wouldn’t take it personally.”

Lance gives him a look. “Thanks a lot. I feel so much better now.”

“Look, why don’t we just cross that bridge when we come to it?”

“We’re _already_ at the bridge, Keith!”

 _‘Patience yields focus.’_ “You’ve been the right hand of Voltron for…how long now? You know this place inside and out. You’ll be fine.” 

Lance throws himself bodily into the chair opposite Keith across the desk. His head drops back over the backrest as his hips slide forward towards the edge of his seat. “This is a disaster. Shiro’s going to fire me for sure. I’ll have the shortest tenure as manager in the history of managers.”

Keith rolls his eyes, watching the boy before him with something on the spectrum between pity and exasperation. So far, his attempts to reassure Lance have fallen on deaf ears. Keith almost snorts at the irony of it all. God, he sucks at the whole comforting people thing. The contrast between his flat unemotional self and Lance’s colorful theatricality is almost hilarious. It would be hilarious too if Keith wasn’t seconds away from blowing up himself.

Help. He needs help.

But Hunk and Pidge aren’t around. And neither are Shiro and Allura. Which means this is all up to Keith. He can still hear Lance thinking across the desk; the guy’s anxiety levels are almost sickening. Keith needs to do _something_ because watching Lance tear himself up over this promotion thing is nearly physically painful.

_‘So maybe come up with a distraction?’_

Colonel Antock once told him, ‘stubbing your toe may hurt, but if someone comes along and hits you in the back of the head, you’ll soon forget about your toe.’ Not that hitting Lance over the head sounds like a particularly good plan—however tempting it may be—but maybe he can get Lance to stub his toe. That would just be a simple matter of hacking his neuro pathways and suggesting that his brain walk him into a baseboard. ‘ _Yeah, no._ ’ Somehow that sounds like it would only make things worse. And, he thinks, that might be missing the whole point of Antock’s adage.

_‘Distraction…’_

Maybe he should just kiss Lance into shutting up? No, that sounds like a worse plan. That would be like trying to close one can of worms by opening another. And besides, Keith promised himself he isn’t going to make life any more complicated than it already is. So that’s a _no_ on the kissing.

This says a lot about Keith’s preferred methods of problem solving because he’s out of ideas. Like, he’s drawing a complete _blank_. He’s already tried telling it like it is, and all _that_ got him was ignored. And his distraction ideas are pretty darn horrible. _Well shit._ Keith may have just remembered why he doesn’t have friends.

Keith is just about to vent his frustration by shooting elastic bands at the wall when something catches his eye. Something round and white. He kicks his feet off the desk and jumps down to get it.

“What are you doing down there?” Lance demands, now peering around the other side of the desk.

Keith answers by throwing the volleyball over the desk at him. “We’re going to play volleyball.”

“Look at the calendar. It’s an _even_ Tuesday,” says Lance dubiously.

“Fuck the calendar. We’re going to the beach.”

A wide smile that’s both mischievous and suggestive spreads across Lance’s face. “Are you trying to distract me by letting me kick your ass at volleyball?” He waggles his eyebrows for good measure and Keith just about has a heart attack.

He doesn’t though, because Poseidon is just too fucking kind. Instead, Keith snorts and folds his arms indifferently over his chest. “Hardly. I plan to distract you with a stupid game of ‘let’s bounce a little white ball back and forth over a net’.”

“ _So_ …basically what I said.” Lance is still grinning.

Fuck. He might want to rethink this whole thing. “Just go get Hunk and Pidge.”

They clock out for the day and get a load of wetsuits in the laundry before heading out to the parking lot. Hunk and Pidge meet them by the thunderbird. It doesn’t take a whole lot of convincing to get them on board. Hunk feels the need to stretch his legs anyway and Pidge wants to see how many times Keith can eat sand in one day. Which is just sadistic but whatever gets her to the beach.

The gang is just about to head out when Nyma and Rolo catch up with them. The two saunter across the parking lot over to the thunderbird; Rolo with an easy smile and Nyma with an overeager one. They’re holding hands which is actually kinda cute. They kind of look like a stereotypical Australian couple from the movies; Rolo is the chill surfer-dude with long blond hair and a dark suntan, and Nyma is the sexy Sheela in her skimpy shorts and revealing crop top. Keith might _possibly_ be able to ship it if he didn’t actually like Rolo. _That poor, poor man_. But better him than Lance. Because Keith is 90 percent positive he knows what’s going on between Lance and Nyma and he _doesn’t_ like it. Neither do Hunk or Pidge but that’s a tangent for another time.

“Hey guys,” Nyma calls, “oh are we playing volleyball today? I thought that was only on odd Tuesdays.”

Pidge pushes her glasses up on her nose, deliberately with her middle finger. “Yes, it’s an even Tuesday. But this is _Keith’s_ game, so the same rules don’t apply.”

Nyma misses the big fat hint to _‘get lost’_. “Oh cool. Can I play? If Rolo comes too then we’ll still have even teams.”

Keith and Pidge exchange a look. A silent ‘ _hell no’_ passes between them. But unfortunately, Lance and his _big mouth_ beat them to the punch. “Uh sure I guess…that’s OK with you, right Keith?”

“No.” Because Keith can’t see the good of bringing the bitch along.

Yet somehow Nyma manages to misinterpret even a simple one-word answer like ‘no’. Idiot. “Great,” she says cheerfully, “which beach are we going to? Altea Beach?”

“No, Clearwater,” says Keith.

And for once, Nyma actually picks up on what he means. “There’s no _way_ you were planning to drive all the way to Clearwater. You’re just trying to get rid of me,” she accuses.

Keith rolls his eyes, “ _now_ she decides to understand me.”

“Keith, that’s not nice,” Lance scolds, with a disapproving frown.

“I’m sorry but I think you have me mistaken for someone who actually gives a fuck,” says Keith.

“It’s alright,” Rolo interrupts, “we wouldn’t want to impose. I’ve actually got some work I need to do around the house. We’ll see you all tomorrow.”

“But babe,” Nyma says through a gritted smile, “I want to play volleyball. Just for a bit. _Please?_ Lance said it’s OK.”

Keith wants to smack her. Pidge looks like she probably _will._ But Lance, the meddling idiot, puts his neck into the yoke and saddles them all with Nyma’s company for the rest of the afternoon. “Yeah. I mean, if we still have even teams, it should be all cool. Right guys?”

“Yeah, sure I guess,” says Hunk slowly. ‘ _Traitor_.’ Pidge turns her murderous gaze on him. He flinches, and for good reason.

Oblivious as ever, or more likely selective with her observations, Nyma claps her hands excitedly. “OK, so we’ll meet you at the beach then.”

Keith walks off towards his own car without another word. Because if he opens his mouth, it will _not_ be pretty. The whole point of playing volleyball was to help _Lance_ ; to get his mind off the whole complicated manager thing and to make him _smile_. Lance is good at volleyball—like really fucking good at it—and when he gets out on the beach to play, he becomes all confidence and smiles. But Nyma coming along basically undermines the whole plan. So yes, Keith is fucking _pissed._ He gets halfway to the car before Lance makes a move to follow him.

When he does, Nyma swings him back around with a hand on his shoulder. “Lance where are you going?” she asks, “your car’s that way.”

Lance gives her an easy smile. “I’m riding with Keith. That way it’s two, two, and two. Nobody gets left out.”

Nyma’s lips curl into a little frown of concern. “Are you sure that’s the smartest thing to do? I mean, Keith’s not exactly…well he’s not…he isn’t very _nice._ And I’d hate to see him hurt you.”

“Babe, leave them alone. I think Lance is old enough to choose his own friends,” says Rolo. He starts gently tugging her towards his car.

Keith’s blood boils. Because first, Nyma doesn’t get to dictate to Lance who he can or cannot hang out with. And secondly, yes Keith is aware he’s a dick. But the thought that he’d ever do anything to hurt someone he considers a friend is just nauseating. While he isn’t above making the lives of select individuals a living hell, he would never deliberately hurt Lance. _Ever_. So he's angry. And a little hurt. Because _Fuck Nyma_. Keith swings open the driver-side door of his car with an unnecessarily sharp jerk. For the sake of appearances more than anything else, he stamps out his temper when he sits down behind the wheel. He waits patiently for Lance to make up his _own_ mind about the situation.

As it turns out, he doesn’t have long to wait. A few breaths later, Lance slides into the passenger seat beside him; smile almost genuine, eyes bright, volleyball resting in his lap. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand!” Lance declares enthusiastically.

Keith snorts a short laugh and turns up the music from his iPod. This time he blasts Lance with a bit of good old-fashioned Mark Knopfler and Dire Straits. They don’t talk as Keith pulls out of the aquarium parking lot, content for the time being to let the music carry the conversation. They’re more than halfway to the beach, stopped at a red light, before either of them makes a move to say anything.

Eventually, Lance reaches over and turns down the volume on _Industrial Disease_ —which is one of Keith’s favorite songs by the way—and almost nervously breaks the mutual silence. “What Nyma said back there, about me not hanging out with you because you’re not a nice person and all, I’m not…I don’t take much stock in that. I mean yeah sure, you’re a dick sometimes. But underneath everything, you’re a good guy Keith. And…and I like you. What I mean is, I like having you as my friend...Cuz, you’re pretty cool and all that. And I know what you were trying to do with the whole volleyball game. I’m honored that you’re willing to eat literal sand for me.”

The botched confession and odd attempt at comfort is enough to shock a little laugh out of Keith. “Don’t worry about me and Nyma. We just don’t like each other, that’s all. Just know that who you hang out with is always up to you. Remember, you get to choose what people mean to you. You don’t owe me anything. You don’t owe Nyma anything.”

“I know,” Lance says quietly. “And thanks.” He brightens a little and turns in his seat so that he’s facing Keith a bit better. “See that’s what I mean by you’re a ‘good guy’.”

Keith keeps his eyes on the road. “Is this supposed to be another one of our 13 percent moments?”

Lance punches him in the shoulder. “Screw you, you asshole! You always ruin it!”

Now Keith is laughing in earnest. They enjoy the rest of the drive and make it to the beach before anyone else. Because everything is a race after all.

When the rest of the gang arrives, they head over to the preset volleyball net and divide up the teams. Or rather, Nyma divides the teams; herself, Rolo, and Lance on one team, and Hunk, Pidge, and Keith on the other. Because there’s literally no point in arguing, Keith opts to keep his mouth shut. As does Pidge which is equally surprising. Keith thinks they can both pat themselves on the back for their forbearance after the game.

Everything seems to be pretty well in hand until Lance whips off his tee-shirt and casts it haplessly aside in the sand. That’s when all Keith’s hopes for actually learning to be somewhat proficient at volleyball evaporate. Because Lance has _abs_. And OK, it’s not like Keith didn’t _know_ that. But being faced with the reality that Lance is going to play the whole game without his shirt on _might_ be a problem.

 _‘Think platonic thoughts Keith,’_ he tells himself, _‘you promised to be friends_.’

But of course, that’s easier said than done when looking his crush straight in the pecs. Very tan, very sculpted, very smooth pecs.

They start the game. And miraculously, Keith manages to keep his eye more or less on the ball. He’s doing much better this time around; he’s actually _not_ hopelessly pathetic. Pidge still keeps track of how many times he falls on her fingers though, but he’s elected to find it amusing.

Lance is back to his usual jovial self. His eyes sparkle as he tracks the ball back and forth over the net, rarely missing a beat. When Keith falls, he laughs. Loud and boisterous and beautiful; good natured and fun-loving, and everything that makes the injury done to Keith’s pride worth it. If Lance told them all he hung the sun, well then, that just might be a conspiracy Keith could get behind. Because the evidence is standing right in front of him. Glorious. Magical. Golden and perfect.

_God, Keith has it bad._

They’re having fun. Even with Nyma and Rolo there. Because once they actually started the game, everyone seemed to find their groove. And as long as they’re all focused on _volleyball_ , Keith is inclined to forgive the unwanted company; even to the point of appreciating Rolo’s zen wisdom and weird sayings.

The score is currently 9 to 11 with Lance’s team in the lead. But Hunk and Pidge are determined that they can catch up, even with Keith’s ‘help’. Which is just _mean_. But he does concede the point. They keep playing.

The sun is hot and high, the air humid and full of ocean. Keith can’t sweat but that doesn’t mean he can’t feel the water that permeates every gust of wind blowing in off the sea. At some point, it all becomes a little much. He starts overheating; his vision starts to darken at the edges, and his legs begin to feel less coordinated. He should probably sit down for a bit. He will never be able to keep up with the humans; he’ll never beat them at their own game. He simply isn’t built for it. But Keith is a stubborn bastard. And he refuses to give up. He’s like Lance that way, hopelessly determined to win a game he’s not equipped to play.

“OK, time out!” Lance calls. He makes a big ‘T’ with his forearms. “I’m calling a half-time.”

 _‘Oh, thank Poseidon.’_ Keith flops down into a cross-legged sitting position on the sand.

“What? Why? We were doing so good,” Nyma points out.

Lance ducks under the net as he tosses the ball to Pidge. “Keith and I are going to take a swim break. It’s getting kinda hot and I need to cool off.” Lance is suddenly standing above him, one hand extended downwards. “Come on, Mullet, let’s go.”

“Oh that’s a good idea,” says Nyma cheerfully. “Mind if we join you?”

“It’s a free ocean isn’t it?” says Lance as he heaves Keith to his feet.

Keith scowls because he doesn’t _want_ Nyma to tag along. But he keeps his mouth shut as he follows Lance and the others out to the water. As it turns out, cooling off does a lot for his mood. Or more accurately, Lance’s theatrics do a lot for his mood. Apparently fed up with Keith’s perpetual frown, Lance splashes him in the face. Which of course turns into a great water war between the two of them. One of which Nyma wants no part.

By the time they walk back up to the net, Keith and Lance are basically hanging on each other for support. Keith’s legs are working fine now, thanks, but Lance is laughing too hard to walk properly. Their renewed camaraderie is the highlight of Keith’s day. The fact that Nyma has to force the smile on her face is just the cherry on top.

“Hey guys, check your phones,” Pidge calls excitedly as they all troop back to the net, “we got a text from Shiro about tomorrow.”

Curious, everyone does as Pidge says. Well except for Keith, because as per usual, he doesn’t have his phone on him. He settles for looking over Lance’s shoulder as the guy pulls his phone out of his shoe. Just as Pidge said, there’s a text from Shiro.

**[Today, 6:32]**

**That*BIONIC*man:** Hey crew, I’m calling a last-minute staff meeting for tomorrow at 7:30 AM before

the opening shift. Be at the HQ hut tomorrow morning. No exceptions. Sorry to spring this on you guys last minute, don’t worry nobody is about to get chewed out (I’m talking to you Lance and Ezor), but we have some things Zarkon wants sorted ASAP. Don’t be late and get a good sleep tonight (that means you Pidge). 😊

Keith takes it back. That text is the cherry on top. Because tomorrow, Lance gets the recognition and the respect he deserves.

* * *

Keith came to work in his pajamas.

No, this is not a dream.

Lance probably dislocated his jaw when Keith pushed open the hut door in his boxer shorts. Because who the fuck shows up to a staff meeting barefoot and in their underwear? Well, Keith. _Apparently._

“The fuck are you lookin’ at?” says Keith, glaring at Lance with his sleep-laden eyes. Morning Keith is _not_ a nice person. The only reason Lance will even consider forgiving the asshole is because his bedhead is adorable. Otherwise, piss off morning Keith. 

“Good morning to you too Princess,” Lance quips.

Keith gives him the finger and wordlessly walks further into the office.

Lance chuckles softly because it’s still too early to laugh out loud. Even though the situation is hilarious. Shiro calls a Staff Meeting with the whole dolphin crew and somehow, in Keith’s brain, that translates to ‘company slumber party in the office’. He’s wearing a solid white tee and a pair of Finding Nemo shorts. His hair is still a wild sleep-tangled mess that hangs low over his drooping eyes. Keith came to work in his underwear and still half asleep, and it just might be the best thing Lance has ever even heard of.

Because even for seven thirty in the morning, Lance got to work on time; showered, fed, organized, and _fully dressed_. Like everyone else in the room. Hunk is a morning person, so he doesn’t really count. He got up even before Lance and Pidge to make breakfast for them all and has now moved on to greater things, like checking his emails in the corner. Ezor is, of course, chipper as ever. She’s leaning against the filing cabinet watching everyone with bright alert eyes. Even Nyma and Rolo are looking mostly awake; leaning into each other on the spare office chair.

The only person who’s on about Keith’s level of ‘morning fucked’ is Pidge. She shuffles into the office from around the corner of the breakroom with a Styrofoam cup of bad coffee and a whole lot of attitude. Pidge is fully dressed but her tee-shirt is inside-out. Lance hasn’t told her so yet because she’ll probably bite his head off.

They’re all waiting in the office for Shiro to show up. Which is a first, considering Shiro is _always_ some crazy fifteen minutes early for everything. The office is still a little dark—the morning sun hasn’t lit up this side of the aquarium yet—and everyone is just a little testy and impatient. Hence the reason they’ve been standing around in silence for the last four or five minutes.

Well, until Keith I-don’t-give-a-fuck Kogane showed up in his _pajamas_.

Pidge rubs her eyes under her glasses as she shuffles towards Shiro’s desk. She yawns, big and ugly and cute, before addressing the proverbial elephant in the room: “Trip, _where_ are your pants?”

“Back in bed, the lucky bastards,” says Keith.

Pidge snorts. “ _Whose_ bed?”

“Oh ha-ha, very funny.”

Lance will never understand how those too zombies can be such smartasses when they’re clearly still half asleep. But they _are_ crudely hilarious. 

Smiling, Hunk looks up from his phone. “You guys look like the walking dead.”

“I knew I was dead. Didn’t realize I was walking though,” says Pidge. Keith gives her a lazy high-five with one hand as he hides his yawn in the other. She keeps walking, eyes lidded with unbanished sleep, and moves to prop herself against Shiro’s desk. “Careful Trip, that extension cable for the dehumidifier is a…” _thud_. Pidge looks down at the floor where Keith is aggressively making out with the carpet, “…a tripping hazard.”

“Poseidon all-fucking-mighty,” Keith curses. He gets back up on his feet and throws himself into Shiro’s favorite chair. The chair even Lance and Allura generally don’t touch. _Fucking brother privileges_.

Pidge drops herself into Keith’s lap, apparently too done with the morning to bother standing on her own two feet. She makes a little nest for herself atop his legs and cradles her coffee gingerly in both hands.

“Get off, Tater-tot. Your ass is fucking boney,” Keith complains, wiggling beneath her to get more comfortable.

“No, you’re squishy. M’staying,” says Pidge.

Keith tries to push her off. “Go find your own chair.”

“No.”

They continue to duke it out over the chair for a few more seconds, lightly shoving, groaning, and occasionally letting a little laugh slip out. Everyone seems content to let them have at it until Lance notices the coffee in Pidge’s hands come treacherously close to splashing over the lip of the cup. He walks behind them, and with incredibly swift reflexes, reaches for the coffee with one long arm. He takes the cup out of Pidge’s hands just before she burns both herself and the body under her.

“Hey, my coffee!” Pidge squeals. She makes grabby hands at him, but Lance’s arms are much too long for her.

“Only if you two _settle down_ ,” says Lance, “if you spill this on yourselves, it’ll hurt.”

Pidge pouts up at him. “That’s not fair, I can’t control _Trip_.”

“She’s right. Better men than you have tried,” Keith quips.

Lance ignores the possible innuendo or double meaning. Because he’s learned by now that there’s a second meaning to just about everything that comes out of this man’s mouth. And in this case, it doesn’t bear thinking about. Not when Keith is sprawled out on the office chair in his pajama shorts. It’s a recipe for disaster and completely _not helpful_. Since the volleyball game yesterday, Lance has found his crush on Keith is starting to burn with a vengeance. He’s even a little jealous of Pidge right now because Lance would kind of like to trade places with her…

_‘Wait what?’_

“Trip!” Pidge snaps as Keith tries again to shift his legs out from under her, “I need my coffee and you’re _not_ helping.”

“But your ass feels like a pitchfork!” Keith gripes.

Pidge smacks him. Keith retaliates by bucking his hips to throw her out of the chair. She squeaks a very un-Pidge-like squeak and grips the armrests with both hands. Over by the wall, Hunk and Ezor start laughing.

“What did I just say?” Lance demands holding the coffee further out of reach before they can spill it all over Shiro’s desk, “settle _down._ ”

“I _am_ settled. Now give me back my coffee _bitch_ ,” Pidge snaps. She half lunges at him again.

Lance gives her the chastising look that works so well on his niece and nephew. “Sit.”

Once he’s satisfied that Pidge and Keith have come to a mutual understanding over the chair, he lowers the coffee cup gently back into her hands. Pidge takes the cup without thanks and goes back to sipping it as if nothing had happened. Meanwhile, Keith takes her phone up off the desk and amuses himself with trying to guess her passcode.

But just when Lance thinks that’s the end of it, Keith ruins everything. As per usual. “Lance, you’re going to make a great Junior Dolphin Dad,” he deadpans.

And Lance lets out a startled laugh at the jab. “Fuck you, _Sparkle_ _Princess_.”

“Ew, _get_ a room,” says Pidge.

Lance is saved from his own indignant sputtering by Shiro who _finally_ turns up. He’s got a taller than usual Starbucks in hand and his hair is sticking up like he hasn’t brushed it yet. But the difference that strikes Lance the most is his shirt. He’s still in uniform inasmuch as his shirt is still sporting the Altea Bay Aquarium logo, but the color’s have been reversed. Lance doesn’t know quite how he feels about wearing that much magenta, but he figures it serves to set Shiro apart from the rest of them. Changes are coming—he’s known that since yesterday—but hot damn, Shiro is taking this whole chain of command seriously now. And Lance is undecided on whether he likes it or not.

Shiro casts his eyes around the office, taking stock of the people around him. “Good, you’re all here…Keith Ariel Kogane, where are your clothes?”

“Up your ass and to the right,” says Keith tacking on a snide “ _mom_ ” for good measure.

“Cute,” says Shiro flatly. And because there’s really no point in arguing with Keith before 9 AM, he walks himself to the center of the back wall to begin his spiel.

Lance’s insides are jittering with anticipation. His heartrate picks up and his stomach twists. He knows in principal what Shiro is going to say—knows for a fact he isn’t about to get chewed out by his boss—but somehow that’s not making it any easier to just stand still and act cool. Lance can’t be sure he isn’t bouncing in place; his fingers are certainly tapping against the middle of his thighs. He wants Shiro to just get to the point so Nyma and the others can tell him he’s making a mistake already, but at the same time, he hopes Shiro never opens his mouth at all. God, this whole anticipation thing is a bitch.

His insides are in such a knot, that he almost jumps when something warm and soft tips lightly against his belly. Looking down, he finds Keith staring up at him; head tilting back in his chair, the close proximity of which necessitates his headbutting of Lance in the stomach.

“Hey as long as we’re here, do you think you could try braiding my hair?” Keith asks softly. “Allura says that’s a good way not to tangle it.”

Never in a million years would Lance have pegged Keith as the kind of guy who’d willingly let someone as crazy as himself mess with his hair, but he won’t say he’s disappointed. At least braiding Keith’s hair will give his anxious hands something to do. And maybe give his mind something to focus on other than the eyes of his team.

“Sure,” Lance says, “you got a hair-lucky?”

Keith hands a little red hair-lucky back over his shoulder and Lance gets to work finger combing Keith’s tangled mullet. Shiro clears his throat and thanks everyone for coming in on such short notice, but Lance finds himself calming down now that his hands are busy. Keith’s hair is thick and soft—more like synthetic fur than human hair—the simple act of platting it is enough to get his nerves more or less under control. Part of him wonders if the guy somehow knew Lance needed something to do. Because joking aside, he’s really starting to think Keith is _legitimately_ psychic. Like, actually, really, honest-to-god, and truly _psychic_. 

Meanwhile, Shiro is speaking. “I’m sorry you all had to get up so early,” he looks sideways at Pidge who raises her coffee as if in toast, “but there’s a few things that Zarkon wanted sorted right away. Starting with the management of the dolphin program. The issue being, there _is_ no management.”

Nyma snorts, and no one even looks twice at her because they’re all thinking the same thing. Well, except Lance. But that’s because he knows something they don’t.

For his part, Shiro is no more bothered by the minor interruption than the rest of them and continues unperturbed. “We haven’t really had a clear chain of command for two years. Ever since the aquarium started paying off its debts and the budget got tighter, I’ve been running this whole shebang like a bootcamp. Where basically, you all just report to me and there’s no higher-up—no Allura doesn’t count because she runs the clinic—and there’s no one under me. I’m the program director, the manager, a trainer, and a veterinary nurse. Needless to say, that hasn’t been working out for me.”

“No shit,” mutters Pidge.

Shiro ignores her. “So, I’m making Lance the new Dolphin Crew Manager starting this Sunday.”

His declaration is met with varying responses, but invariably, all eyes turn towards Lance. Some with agreement, some with surprise, one set with delight, one set with shock and ire. Lance fights the urge to hide behind Keith and Pidge, but he forces himself to look back at the faces of his team.

“Lance has been here since before Zarkon made me the program director. He knows this place inside and out. He cares about each and every one of you and he loves the animals. Lance will be a great go to resource when I’m not available to you,” Shiro says.

Lance feels his heart thud painfully in his chest again, but he smiles anyways. “Don’t worry, the power won’t go to my head _too_ much.” He shoots off a couple finger guns which make Hunk and Ezor laugh.

“You’re gonna be a _manager?_ ” Pidge cries, now fully awake, “when did you find out and why didn’t you _tell_ me? Dude, that’s a breach of our friendship!”

Lance winces. “ _Surprise..?”_

“I told him not to say anything,” Shiro says, “I wanted to tell everyone as a team so we could have a grown-up conversation about the changes that are going to happen around here. I know springing this on everyone at 7:30 in the morning isn’t a popular decision, but I needed to get this out of the way. I needed everyone to know that I’m serious. Lance is your new manager and you will respect that. Are there any questions, comments, or concerns?”

Nobody says anything. Lance fidgets in the silence. Nyma is still glaring at him but he forces himself to man up and meet her eyes. He pretends she’s Keith because he can have a grown-up stare down with his mulletted compatriot without panicking. And _no,_ that’s not a weird thing to do. Certainly no weirder than imagining everyone in their underwear. Which, now that he thinks about it…his eyes travel back down to Keith’s shorts and the way they ride high on his thighs; the way they leave nothing to the imagination…

“Well if there are no comments, then let’s get to it!” Shiro’s voice throws Lance’s head out of the gutter and back into reality. Something flies out of Shiro’s hand and hits him squarely in the face. Catching the object as it falls, Lance discovers that he’s holding a magenta shirt with a blue Dolphin Crew logo. “That’s your uniform starting Sunday,” Shiro explains.

“Nice catch,” says Keith dryly.

“It was a sneak attack!” Lance squeaks.

Pidge snickers into her coffee. “You’re gonna look good in magenta, Lance.”

“Careful, Barbie might want her shirt back,” Keith teases.

“Oh yeah! Well…” but while Lance is trying to think up a comeback, Shiro reaches back into one of his shopping bags and launches something else their way.

Keith catches the projectile easily. He unfolds the crumpled fabric to find a pair of scrubs that match Allura’s perfectly: bubblegum pink. Pidge laughs like a maniac because she understands that karma is a _bitch_.

“That’s your new uniform starting today,” says Shiro, “Allura needs help cleaning the instruments in the clinic.”

Lance bends forward over the back of the chair, putting his face close to Keith’s ear, before saying, “careful Mullet, Barbie might want her scrubs back.”

“Fuck you,” says Keith.

Lance just laughs.

Shiro ignores them. “The last order of business I want to address before I let you all get to work, is this: Keith is my brother. And yes, because I am the director here, I was able to hire him. But that’s not _why_ I hired him. I brought Keith onto the team because he’s smart, he’s capable, and he’s a fast learner. I hired him because he’s good. Is that _clear?_ ”

“Oooh, it’s the _Dad Voice_ ,” says Pidge.

“Katerina Holt.” Shiro gives her a withering look before turning back to the room at large. “Well if that’s all clear, then take a few minutes, get some coffee, and I’ll see you all on deck. Thanks again for coming in, everyone. We have an amazing team. I really appreciate all of you and the things you do for the animals here. It’s truly a blessing to work with you.”

As the meeting wraps up, Lance sets his new uniform shirt on the desk and just stares at it. Shiro professed confidence in him, in front of the whole team no less, but he’s still not quite sure himself.

“You’re going to be fine, Lance,” says Keith, tipping his head back again. His big dark eyes are full of certainty.

Lance grins down at him. “Of course I am. I’m going to be better than fine. You know what they call me?”

“Big mouth?” chirps Pidge turning to look at him over her shoulder.

“No, they call me the Sharpshooter cuz’ I always get it.”

Keith snorts. “OK then _, Sharpshooter_.” His voice is dry, but his eyes are twinkling. And then he smiles. Keith actually smiles; soft and genuine and beautiful. And suddenly Lance’s little crush doesn’t feel so little anymore.

_‘Oh dear, what have I fallen into?’_

“Keith!” Shiro shouts from around the corner of the breakroom, “put some pants on!”

“Fuck pants,” Keith calls back, “I’m a mermaid.”

Nope. Not such a little crush at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Guys, congratulations for making it to the end of this chapter! 30 pages at 11 point font AFTER I deleted three scenes. I'll probably delete a couple more scenes because I'm not sure it all needs to be here. But for now, meh. Also *POSIBLE SPOILER WARNING* don't worry too much about the whole 'Zarkon knows' thing, because that's just going to be anti-climactic. Keith is safe enough from him. Sorry to disappoint.


	7. Anatomy of a Mermaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Keith, let me do this for you,” she says, “It’ll be the biggest ‘fuck you’ to your people in the history of ‘fuck you’s. Because you made your life without them. You figured things out on your own. You did it. You’re here, even after what they did to you.”
> 
> Still unsure, Keith flops onto his back and covers his eyes with his forearm. “But I don’t…I’m not…I don’t want to get poked and prodded like…”
> 
> “Like the animals we check up on?” she finishes.
> 
> “Yes.”
> 
> Allura laughs. “Keith, that’s what doctors do. Even I have to get poked around when I go to the doctor.”
> 
> “But I’m not sick,” Keith points out.
> 
> Allura rolls her eyes. “Are you going to cooperate or not? Because we have real work to do.”

“ _Keith_ …,” Lance whines as he swings around the corner of the breakroom. “ _Keith_ …”

Slumped against the armrest on the far side, cheek resting on his fist, eyes glued to a Jules Vern novel, Keith ignores his whining. Instead he turns the page. His lips move soundlessly as he mouths the words to himself, eyebrows furrowing intently as he blows the bangs out of his face. He hooks one socked foot behind the opposite ankle, legs falling open as he slumps deeper into the couch. Lance wonders if Keith knows that his lips move when he reads. Probably not. But it’s the cutest thing ever. And Lance almost had to go catch his breath in the other room the first time he caught Keith reading.

At least these days, Keith reading in the breakroom is a common enough occurrence that Lance _isn’t_ falling all over himself. In fact, it’s routine. _Their_ routine. Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday.

So Lance doesn’t take being ignored personally. Not anymore. He has learned by now that when Keith is into his book, there’s no talking to him. You could drag a whole _Trampoline Act_ into the room and he wouldn’t look up. But this too is part of their new routine.

As is Lance shuffling across the room to throw himself laterally across the couch. He waits for Keith to acknowledge his presence by shifting into a position more conducive for couch-sharing. Hunk calls it cuddling. Pidge calls it canoodling. Lance calls it his 15-minute union regulation break. Keith calls it…actually, Keith never says anything about it at all. He just repositions himself to accommodate another body, shifting slightly to let Lance rest his head on his leg.

They fell into this routine completely by accident almost a month ago, the week directly after Shiro made Lance the new Dolphin Crew Deck Manager. Keith had been on his fifteener—his break between chores on the Dolphin Deck and working in Allura’s clinic—already changed into his scrubs, shoes kicked off in the corner, lounging back with a Star Wars novel by Mathew Stover. Lance had busted into the breakroom on a fifteener of his own, completely stressed out over some guests he had to deal with, and had tried to demand Keith’s attention. It did not go well. Lance ended up ranting to himself for a solid four minutes before he realized that his should-be audience hadn’t heard _a word_ of it. And Lance being Lance, had thrown himself right on top of Keith to get his attention. It worked. Sort of. Keith had at least acknowledged his presence if only by readjusting his book so that it was resting on the top of Lance’s head. Then he’d turned the page. He never once asked Lance to get up. Never asked him to go away. Never asked him to shut up. He simply settled into a more comfortable position and kept reading.

Since then, it’s been their thing. Lance comes in, throws himself on top of Keith, starts ranting, gets a pat on the head, and then surfs the web. Sometimes, when he’s feeling particularly anxious, he makes a secondary attempt to get Keith’s attention. But most of the time they just lay on the couch like a couple of potatoes. The whole situation is so utterly ridiculous, so utterly unprofessional, so utterly _them,_ that Lance finds himself looking forward to his fifteen-minute breaks more than he probably should.

He used to be insulted that Keith didn’t really listen to his rants. But Lance has since learned that it doesn’t really matter. He just needs someone to be there when he rants. He can’t rant to the walls—there’s no point in that—but he doesn’t really need anyone to comment on his longwinded speeches either. He thinks maybe Keith knew that instinctively. They guy _is_ psychic after all. And that principal has since become the basis of their friendship.

Keith _always_ knows.

Whatever Lance needs, Keith knows. Sometimes he’s a dick about it—often times he’s a dick about it—but he’s always right. And while that used to infuriate Lance to no end, he has since become grateful for it. It’s nice to have someone who can intuit him like that. Not even Hunk gets things as often as Keith does. The guy’s delivery could use some work perhaps—Keith is a tough love kind of guy—but it’s so obvious now that even his asshole approach comes from a place of goodness, that Lance can’t find it in himself to resent it.

Tough love is just one of the things that makes up Keith Ariel Kogane. It’s part of the package. Take it or leave it.

Lance is a mess. An emotional mess. Too consumed by doubts, anxious thoughts, and chaotic dreams that most of the time he feels like he’s about to _explode._ Sometimes he does. He goes on rants and tangents, he yaps the ear off anyone who’ll listen, he goofs off: all just to have something to do with the excess of adrenaline coursing through his veins. Some people find it amusing. Some people find it endearing. Some people find it annoying. Everyone finds it a little much at times.

But Keith just always knows.

Keith doesn’t find Lance ‘too much’ because he always knows when he needs to pay attention and when he doesn’t. Keith doesn’t chase Lance around in circles when he doesn’t need to. Keith just keeps reading his book. Because he can focus and tune Lance out when he needs to. Keith knows when to just be a body to yell in front of.

Keith always knows.

And Keith needs Lance too. Because the guy is his own version of a hot mess: always tripping over something, always a disorganized disaster, always half asleep when he comes in, always ready to pass out. And Lance has quick reflexes and strong arms. He’s gotten good at catching Keith _before_ he hits the deck. He’s gotten good at watching where Keith leaves things—his phone, his keys, his _pants_ —because while Keith seems to have his head screwed on straight, he’s an absolute _slob_. More than once now Lance has stopped Keith from going for a swim with his iPod or from sending his car keys through the washing machine.

Keith _pretends_ he doesn’t like it when Lance tries to take care of him, but it’s just an act. Keith likes to act tough and mean—likes to pretend he doesn’t give a shit about anything—but that’s not true at all. Lance has seen him with Pidge and Shiro and Allura; in one breath he’ll insult them, but with the next, he’ll tell them exactly what they need to hear. Keith is an asshole. But his prickly exterior belies an honest, kind, and magical soul. Keith is both painfully straightforward and mysterious. He’s blunt. He’s sarcastic. He’s all about fact. He’s all about fiction. He is who he is. And _he_ is an act.

After a month of getting used to their respective jobs, they’ve found their groove. They’re friends. Maybe best friends (sorry Hunk). They’re comfortable together like a couple of old shoes. They’re explosive like a bottle rocket and a short fuse. They’re the combination Lance never would have put together, like Nutella and potato-chips, but they _work_. And Lance isn’t sure if he could have become a good manager without Keith’s unflinching, sharp tonged, and frankly abrasive version of support.

But then, Keith always knows.

Because he’s _magic_. And if he isn’t Lance’s best friend yet, there’s a good chance he will be.

So as his ‘maybe best friend’, Lance thinks it’s at least arguably permissible to spend the last five minutes of his break bothering Keith. A trampoline act might not get the guy’s attention, but Lance has found one foolproof method for getting him to put down his book.

Without warning, Lance attacks Keith’s ribcage with his fingers. Keith isn’t ticklish unless you manage to surprise him. But when you do…

Keith yelps. He drops his book and flips them both off the couch as he makes a grab for Lance’s wrists. Lance lands hard on his back, sprawled laterally on the tiled floor, and finds himself looking up into a pair of wild mercury eyes. Keith is on top of him now, belly to belly, hands braced against the insides of Lance’s shoulders.

“Poseidon all-fucking… _hell!_ ” Keith squeaks just before Lance wraps his arms around his waist like an orangutan and tickles his sides again. “Lance! Stop it!” But now Keith’s laughing too hard for Lance to make out what he’s saying.

“What was that?” Lance asks through a smile, “I can’t understand you when you’re laughing like that.”

“Fuck you!” Keith tries to scream. But the second half of his thought is interrupted by another peal of laughter as Lance moves on from tickling his ribs to his armpits.

“What was that?” Lance repeats.

Keith wraps a hand around Lance’s wrist and tries to dislodge the offending hand. “I said, _‘fuck you!’_ ” 

“OK, but not in public.”

“ _Lance…_ ”

But Lance just smiles devilishly as he rolls Keith over onto his side so he can get as his abs. Keith curls in on himself trying to hide his belly from Lance’s fingers. And he’s almost good at it too. Lance’s arm almost gets crushed between his bellybutton and hipbone. Keith is really fucking strong; the guy is a solid mass of pure muscle. Messing with him is almost legitimately dangerous. Not because Keith would _actually_ try to hurt him, but because he can’t always control it. Lance thinks of it this way: tickling Keith is like tickling a baby tiger. It’s kind of adorable but also, there may be consequences. Fortunately for Lance though, Keith loses all coordination when you tickle him. So, as long as he doesn’t accidently deck you, his strength really doesn’t count for much.

Lance sits up so that they’re no longer lying side by side on the floor, and tugs Keith closer by sliding him over the smooth tiles. They’re both laughing too hard, cheeks and abdominal muscles starting to hurt, lungs aching for air. Lance doesn’t mind. Watching Keith laugh, really laugh, is too much fun. Because it doesn’t happen very often. And Keith has a _very_ cute laugh.

“Lance stop! We’re at work. We’re supposed to be acting like grownups!” Keith reasons.

 _True. But also_ … “we’re on break. Shiro can’t tell us how to behave when we’re not on the clock.”

“You’re… _stop that!_ You’re the… _Lance!”_

“You’re right, I am _The_ Lance. The one and only.”

“You’re the _deck manager_ …you...!”

“You what?”

“Stop tickling me! I can’t _breathe_.”

Lance relents. He lets Keith go limp on the tiles long enough to catch his breath. It’s tempting to reach over and brush those stupid bangs out of his face—to get a better look at Keith’s red cheeks and closed eyes—but he can’t. Because even though Lance has a crush on his maybe-best-friend, it doesn’t mean he gets to _act_ on it.

There are a couple reasons for that. The first reason being, Lance doesn’t know how Keith would react to that. They’re friends now. And Lance doesn’t want to do anything to jeopardize their relationship. He likes Keith. He likes spending time with him. He likes fooling around on their breaks and ditching work for unsanctioned Lyn-Lyn runs. And jumping in the ocean during volleyball games, and arguing over mermaids, and watching outdated TV shows with a bowl of peanut M&Ms. He likes their serious conversations too, when they have them, and the way Keith always leaves him feeling just a little better. And Lance doesn’t want to give all that up over a little crush.

The other perhaps more selfish reason is this, Lance promised Nyma he’d wait for her. Even though she’s dating Rolo, Lance hasn’t made a move on anyone. Nyma won’t like it. And Lance doesn’t really mind. Not since they both promised each other that it will always be them against the world.

So Lance keeps his hands too himself and lets Keith’s bangs fall over his face like a little curtain. He can be content with this. Eventually, Lance thinks his crush may go away. Possibly. If it doesn’t keep getting _worse_.

“You’re over-thinking things again,” Keith says. He’s still laying on his side, face turned away, body curled into a loose ball. He doesn’t even look up once, but he knows.

And Lance isn’t even surprised anymore. He doesn’t deny it or accuse Keith of making another lucky guess. Instead, he rolls with it. “Well, it’s not like over-thinking is exactly _optional._ ”

“I know,” says Keith.

Lance rolls his eyes. “Of course you do.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 _Oh hell no. Not about this_. “Eh, not really. And your alarm is probably going to go off any minute now.”

Keith finally rolls onto his back, shoulder blades falling across Lance’s knees, as he looks up. “I suppose you have a point. Shiro will probably be on his way over soon too.” He pushes himself up just a bit and reaches for the abandoned copy of _Gulliver’s Travels_ lying face down on the floor. His face scrunches a little in annoyance and his lips purse in a little pout. “You made me lose my page.”

“Sorry, dude,” says Lance. And he actually means it. “I wasn’t really thinking about that.”

“Clearly,” Keith grumbles, “aww…the pages are all bent.”

“But the words are still there,” Lance points out with a sheepish grin.

Keith gives him a look. “ _Wonderful._ ”

A few seconds later, Keith’s alarm goes off: a boring default ringtone that Keith never bothered to change. And as always, Keith ignores his alarm. He waits for Lance to tell him to get up. He always does. So Lance gets up a little and starts digging around for the phone. This time it’s in the crack between the cushions; much less awkward than the time Keith had been sitting on it.

“Time to go to work Mullet,” says Lance cheerily as he shuts the ringer off.

Keith frowns in irritation. “No. You owe me two more minutes of reading time.”

Lance laughs. “I don’t think it works like that. Allura will kill both of us if you’re late getting over to the clinic.”

“You’re the worst.”

“I know.”

“You’re nine years old.”

“I know. And your shoes are by the front door.”

“I know where I left my shoes.”

“You’re welcome.”

Keith flips him off as he pushes himself up off the floor and throws the book back in his locker. For his part, Lance just smiles as his friend rounds the corner and heads out.

It’s all routine now: everything from going into work with Hunk and Pidge, to volleyball on _even_ Tuesdays, to falling deeper into his crush on Keith. Routine inasmuch as these are the new ins and outs of Lance’s daily life. Some of these new routines he embraces. Others, he fights. But taken all together, Lance would have to say things have just gone steadily uphill since that one Wednesday when Shiro made him the manager.

Actually, that’s not quite true. Things started going uphill that day on the beach when they rescued Red.

* * *

“Remind me how I let you talk me into this.” Keith looks at Allura with suspicion and regret as she maneuvers the mobile X-Ray into place above him.

“Because curiosity is a bitch,” Allura says sweetly, “now lay down.”

“You’re mean,” he glares up at her, “I changed my mind, I’m getting out of here.” Keith tries to roll sideways off the mat onto the clinic floor but Allura catches him around the waist. She needs both arms. Allura King is a strong woman, but Keith is surprisingly heavy in his mermaid form. Maybe she should get his mythical ass on the scale next. _That_ sounds entertaining.

“Stop squirming,” she scolds, “for pity sake, _lay_ down.”

“I’m not _this_ curious, let me go,” Keith says.

Allura rolls her eyes. “Don’t be a baby. This was half your idea.”

“No it _wasn’t!_ You’ve been pestering me for weeks. I was just stupid enough to go along with you.”

“Oh no you don’t. You’re not going to get away with that. You said you wanted to know more about yourself…”

“I said ‘I wish my parents lived long enough to explain shit to me’. Allura, that’s not the same thing as wanting you to take pictures of my innards!”

Keith makes another dive at the floor and this time Allura can’t catch him. They both go down. The drop isn’t long, barely a foot, but they still end up sprawled on top of each other. Allura suddenly finds one of her legs crushed by an extremely muscular mermaid tail and her chest heaving against a solid mass. She looks up into the irritated and slightly frightened eyes above her face without sympathy.

“ _Keith…_ ” she starts.

He pushes himself off her with difficulty, all but immobile out of the water. “I’m not a science experiment,” he says defensively.

Allura finds her patience slipping through her fingers. She understands where he’s coming from, she really does, but she’s still insulted that he could think she’d treat this like a pet project. Insulted that he could think this was more about satisfying her scientific curiosity than about helping him better understand his own biology. Insulted that he could think she’d ever do anything to hurt him.

The situation is a bit complicated. Allura will be the first to admit as much.

After working with Keith in the clinic for a while, Allura had finally worked up the courage to ask him a question that had been bugging her for a while; what did Shiro mean when he said ‘mermaids have secondary genders’? Keith had then told her he only remembered ‘female’ mermaids in his pod; but nevertheless, every other year they migrated to the South Pacific to give birth. Piecing together his fragmented memories of the pod, Keith came to his own conclusions about how mermaids work. Either they are actually asexual (which he knows for a fact isn’t true) or somehow, they have unexpressed genders. But beyond his own conjecture, he couldn’t really say.

Truth be told, Keith doesn’t know anything about the subject. Or about his body in general. His parents didn’t live long enough to explain anything to him. And he was abandoned by the rest of the pod before he was old enough to understand much of what he heard and saw. Understandably, Shiro and his family on land couldn’t help him through growing up. Which is what it is. Or was what it was. Allura doesn’t know how he was able to go through puberty and everything without a single soul he could go to for answers. But Keith learned to adapt on his own. He’s clever like that.

Even so, Allura found the whole situation a little heartbreaking. And in her own way, she might be able to answer some of his questions. Probably even questions the rest of his pod wouldn’t have because X-Rays don’t work under water. Allura just wants to help. She can’t give him back all the things he lost—or more accurately the things he never had—but she can give him the benefit of her own knowledge and research as a veterinarian. And she thinks of Keith as the little brother she never had. It hurts her to watch him navigate a human world; to try to play by rules that were never meant for him.

“Keith, let me do this for you,” she says, “It’ll be the biggest ‘fuck you’ to your people in the history of ‘fuck you’s. Because you made your life _without_ them. You figured things out on your own. _You_ did it. You’re here, even after what they did to you.”

Still unsure, Keith flops onto his back and covers his eyes with his forearm. “But I don’t…I’m not…I don’t want to get poked and prodded like…”

“Like the animals we check up on?” she finishes.

“Yes.”

Allura laughs. “Keith, that’s what doctors _do._ Even _I_ have to get poked around when I go to the doctor.”

“But I’m not sick,” Keith points out.

Allura rolls her eyes. “Are you going to cooperate or not? Because we have real work to do.”

She gives him a minute to think it over. They end up lying side by side on the floor together, staring up at the ceiling and tracing patterns in the concrete with their eyes. Are they working? No. Do they have work to do? Yes. Do either of them give a shit? Not really. Allura doesn’t have patients to see at the moment; she has only to drop off a hardcopy of her monthly finance statements at Zarkon’s office, which isn’t a huge deal.

“Fine,” says Keith after another minute, “but we burn the data afterwards.”

Allura smiles at the ceiling. “Cool. We’ll have a bonfire in the back yard.”

She feels his cheek brush up against her shoulder as he turns his head to look at her. “You’re thinking about roasting marshmallows over a pile of X-Rays aren’t you?”

Now looking down at him, she grins. “ _Well…_ Shiro won’t let me roast them over the candles in the living room, so…”

“Shiro is _way_ too ready to be a dad for his own good,” Keith jokes.

“He missed his calling as a kindergarten teacher,” she says sadly.

“Have you _met_ the Voltron team?” Keith deadpans.

Allura snorts. “True. When Lance is the only one mature enough to be the manager, you know you have a problem.”

“I feel attacked.”

“As well you should.” Allura laughs as she sits upright and cracks her back. She slumps forward to rest her forearms on her knees as she looks down at Keith. “So…are we gonna do this or what?”

“Yes. But we’re going out for lunch after and you’re paying.”

“Then we’re going to Johnny Rocket’s.”

“Deal. Help me up.”

Allura helps him back up onto the mat where they usually place larger marine mammals for check-ups and repositions the equipment. They have about three hours before lunch so Allura puts him through the works: X-Rays, a CAT scan, an ultrasound, and draws a blood sample. They end up chatting through the whole thing; making fun of Shiro whenever things start to get stressful is unsurprisingly effective. Time flies by expectantly. And pretty soon Keith is morphing back into his human form while Allura politely turns her back so he can get dressed in private.

While he gets himself sorted, Allura pins printouts of the X-Rays and ultrasound to the lightbox in her office and pulls up images of the CAT scan on her monitor. She leaves the blood samples alone for later. What she sees is mind blowing. And even though she promised herself not to get excited about the science, she finds herself tearing through the old textbooks on her shelves looking for commonalities between Keith’s biology and other marine animals. Somethings about him are more like a dolphin than anything. Somethings are very human. And somethings are uniquely mermaid. Everything about him is incredible.

“Well I’m glad one of us is excited,” Keith deadpans, “if you’re this bad, I hate to think of what’ll happen when Pidge finally puts two and two together.”

But Allura is way too excited to be put off by Keith’s indifferent attitude. Instead she grins at him. “Keith, do you realize how _amazing_ this is?” She turns the computer monitor around on the desk to face him. “I mean _look_ at this!”

He gives her a flat look. “If I hadn’t been working here for the past month, I’d say you’ve never seen a CAT scan before.”

She rolls her eyes. “Look,” she insists, rising on her tiptoes and reaching her arm over the top of the monitor to point at a scan of his head. “There in the front, you have a third lobe of your brain. That must be how the telepathy thing works. You’ve got a whole portion of your brain that is dedicated to picking up ‘neuro chatter’ and translating it into something you understand. You know, kind of like how dolphins have a melon to pick up sonar.”

“Huh,” Keith says. He folds his arms over his chest, still pretending that he doesn’t care, but Allura can see the interest sparking behind his eyes. His mind is probably going into overdrive as he tries to sort through this new information. “I guess that explains a bit.”

“It’s still just a theory, but I’m pretty sure that’s what that third lobe is for,” she says. Because there’s no way to know for sure, not without running extensive tests, and _that_ will never happen.

“It’s better guesswork than I came up with, so I suppose something came of this mess,” Keith says with a shrug.

That’s as close to approval or thanks as she’s likely to get but Allura is still almost downright ecstatic as she flips to the next image. “And it looks like you were right about the whole ‘expressed unexpressed gender’ thing.”

“Yeah?”

She walks around to join him on the other side of the desk so they can both review the images more comfortably. “Here,” she points to some vaguely jellybean shaped splotches between the ridges of the hipbone, “these look like ovaries. And that looks like a…”

“Please don’t say it…”

“Uterus.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re very welcome,” she smiles, “apparently, you’ve got two sets of reproductive organs.”

“Guess I’m a two for one deal; like a Happy Meal,” he deadpans.

Allura slaps his shoulder. “You’ve been spending _way_ too much time with Lance.”

He doesn’t disagree. Instead, he shrugs and points to some shapeless mass above the stomach. “What do you suppose that is?”

Allura grabs a textbook off the desk and flips through the pages, back to the chapter on dolphins. “Best guess?” she says, “an air bladder.”

“Cool. And those?” He trails his finger along the tail where they can just make out what look like long strings of beads and ribbons. Not muscle, but… _something_.

Allura shrugs. “Honestly? I haven’t a clue. But I’m guessing those things have something to do with your ability to shapeshift.”

A nod. “What’s that?”

They go on like this for about another hour. Keith asking questions and Allura making guesses. They come up with theories together. Or rather they string together long lists of guesses drawn from their shoddy haul of data. But it’s fun. Allura finds herself enjoying the whole thing immensely and even Keith gets drawn into it. She supposes that’s the researcher and conspiracy theorist in him coming out. It’s a little bit hilarious to be honest.

When Allura’s alarm goes off, they both jump a little. She tackles her phone across the desk and shuts off the offending ringer.

“Well that’s lunch,” she says, “Jonny Rocket’s?”

“Yep. I’m starving. You and your CAT scans; I haven’t eaten in forever,” Keith gripes as he rises from his seat.

Allura isn’t sure if he stood up too fast or if this is just Keith being Keith, but as soon as he’s out of his chair, he’s on the floor. By now, this is a common enough occurrence that she doesn’t think twice about bending over to help him back to his feet. She doesn’t even ask if he’s OK anymore because he’ll just flip her off. Instead, she keeps talking. “Do you want to delete this stuff before we leave, or do you want to come back to it?”

Now on his own two feet again, Keith scans the office full of X-Rays and shit with his eyes. “Nah, just lock the office. I’m not going through those scans again so we might as well keep everything for a bit.”

Allura nods, appreciative of the trust that has grown between them. “Alright, that sounds like a pretty good plan.” She hands him a stack of papers from the desk. “Drop these off in the office for Zarkon, will you? I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

“Sure.”

Keith takes the financial reports out the door with him. Allura stays behind to hide the files. She collects the X-Ray and Ultrasound printouts, and slipping them into an unmarked paper packet, she locks them in the bottom draw of her desk. Then turning back to the computer, she downloads copies of the CAT scan images to a USB stick and deletes the originals. Allura isn’t going to take any chances that someone might stumble upon their work. Keith is trusting her here—Shiro is trusting her—and by god, she will not betray them. Only when she’s satisfied that the documents are hidden to the best of her ability does Allura lock the office and head out to the parking lot.

* * *

Meanwhile, Keith takes the monthly finance report to Zarkon’s office. It isn’t a long walk, just down the hall and up one flight of stairs, but his legs still shake. He doesn’t regret going along with Allura and her schemes, far from it in fact—he learned so much today—but morphing twice in two hours on an empty stomach was _not_ one of his better decisions. Not at all.

 _‘You just have to drop these papers on the desk and then you can eat, Keith. Quit whining and keep walking,’_ he tells himself. But by the time he reaches the top of the stairs, his vision is growing dark and splotchy. Belatedly, Keith thinks he should have taken the elevator.

But the faster he drops off the papers the sooner he gets lunch, so Keith forces himself to make it the rest of the way to Zarkon’s office. He knocks on the door but doesn’t bother waiting for a response. Instead he pushes it open to find his boss midway through a giant cheeseburger. Zarkon’s cheeks are full up like a chipmunk and there’s a curling string of onion hanging out of his mouth.

“Bad time sir?” Keith asks, not really caring about the answer.

Zarkon’s face contorts with annoyance. He chews quickly, trying to swallow enough of his burger to be able to answer. “There’s no point in knocking if you’re just going to open the door.”

“Well then it’s lucky for both of us you were decent,” Keith says dryly.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re not as funny as you think you are?”

Keith shrugs. “If they did, I wasn’t listening.” He walks over and drops the stack of papers on Zarkon’s desk. “These are from Allura by the way. She sends her warm regards.”

“OK, _that_ was a good one,” says Zarkon, wiping his greasy fingers on a napkin before sliding the papers towards himself with one hand. “Thanks for the…are you alright Kogane?”

Keith frowns. His head feels heavy and his legs are killing him, but he isn’t in any danger of passing out. Yet. _So_ … “yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

Zarkon gives him a look. “You have a headache?”

“I just haven’t eaten today.”

“Take a couple aspirin and lay down for a few minutes anyways,” says Zarkon still looking at him with suspicion.

Keith crosses his arms over his chest as he watches Zarkon with bright alert eyes. Because Zarkon is many things but a fool is not one of them. Keith is a telepath. He knows when someone knows more than they’re telling. And there’s a question Keith has wanted to ask him since the penguin incident over a month ago.

“How did you know, sir?”

Zarkon doesn’t need him to clarify. “My wife Honerva is a mermaid. I know what to look for.”

Keith nods, once. “You’re not going to do anything about it are you.”

“No. As far as I’m concerned; you’re hired legally, you pay your taxes, and you’re a hard worker. Whatever else you are isn’t my business.”

That’s all that Keith needed to hear, all that needed to be said, so he leaves without another word. If he wasn’t feeling like shit, he’d have a _lot_ to think about. So Keith supposes it’s just as well that he feels like shit because he’s done _enough_ thinking for one day. He’s had enough talking to dolphins and _enough_ science, and _fuck_ , his head is about to explode. What he has _not_ had enough of is _food._ And his meal ticket for the day is waiting for him in the parking lot.

They take the Jeep to lunch. Allura drives. And Keith is fine with that. Her driving scares the shit out of Shiro—even though the man is a bit of a kamikaze himself—but Keith doesn’t give a whale’s tail. And Johnny Rocket’s is only a quick five or six minute drive from the aquarium anyways.

“We’ve got more than a half hour; do you want to just go in?” Allura asks as they pull into the parking lot.

“Yep. I’m too hungry to wait till we get back to the aquarium,” Keith says as he unbuckles the seatbelt.

“I mean, we _could_ eat in the car.”

“Shiro would murder us. This thing is his baby.”

Allura sighs, pushes open her door, and pockets the keys. “I know. Maybe if I were a huge hunk of car, he’d find the nerve to ask me out.”

Keith almost laughs, but his stomach beats him to the punch with a loud growlly sound and his head spins. So Allura wraps an arm around his shoulders and guides him into the diner instead. After just a short walk across the parking lot, he tilts his head to look sideways at her as she pushes open the front door. “You _know_ ,” he says, “Shiro already likes you.”

“I know.” Allura steers them through the diner towards a booth at the back. She takes them towards an isolated window seat and _away_ from a rowdy crowd of mothers and toddlers. “You should probably stay here while I order. What do you want?”

“Anything they’ve got for vegetarians is fine,” Keith says sliding onto the bench. “You could ask _him_ out.”

“I’m going to get food.”

Keith rolls his eyes and spreads his hands in an open palmed gesture. “You brought it up.”

Allura sighs. “If you can read my mind, then you’ll know where I stand on this. I just want…most of the time guys get too nervous to ask me out…”

“You’re very intimidating…” he agrees unprompted.

“So just once, I want someone to be man enough to _ask_ me. After that, I’ll make the first move.”

“I’m guessing this falls under the ‘do not tell your brother’ category?”

“Please.” Now towering above him, Allura lightly punches Keith’s shoulder. “And you’re not much better yourself. _You and Lance_.”

Keith gives her a wan smile. “Well maybe if I was a short blond bitch, he’d ask me out.”

Allura snorts at his wording and her lips twitch in a little smile as she shakes her head. “You must know how he looks at you…”

“Pretty sure I’m squarely in the Friend Zone,” he says flatly.

And this time Allura outright laughs, drawing the attention of several diners nearby. She doesn’t notice the many eyes on them, and he doesn’t care. So oblivious, Allura keeps talking, “I thought you could read his mind! How do you not know about the crazy crush he has on you?”

Keith gives her a look. “ _Of course_ I know he has a crush on me.”

“So ask him out?” Allura reasons.

Keith shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Aww come on, you’re the telepath. You’re the one that knows for a _fact_ he has a crush on you. You don’t have to do the whole ‘what if he says no’ thing because you know that he likes…”

“But I also know he won’t _do_ anything about it because he’s still hung up on _Nyma_.” Keith is understandably exasperated. “He thinks she’s the only one that can understand him, the only one he has any hope of being _good enough_ for, because she _needs_ him. And he thinks he needs her. He doesn’t, but he thinks so. He won’t do anything about me as long as he thinks he needs to be there for her. And I don’t want him to. I don’t want to put my head or my heart where it doesn’t belong. As long as he’s not good enough for himself, he’s not good for me.”

Allura’s eyes narrow, anger piqued. “Keith that’s not fair to Lance. He’s great…”

“ _I_ know he’s great,” Keith snaps, “but _he_ doesn’t. As long as he thinks he isn’t good enough for me, he’ll always be afraid I’m going to leave him. He’ll always be afraid that he has to please me like he does with Nyma. And I won’t have it!”

“Wow, you’ve really thought about this haven’t you?” says Allura, almost impressed.

Keith just shakes his head, feeling a little defeated. “When you have to listen to people think all day, you learn things. Unless I focus on someone’s mind, it’s all white noise, but there are times when…” he stops himself and sinks lower into the booth. “Look, Lance has so _much_ to offer. But he needs to learn to respect himself. He has to get to _know_ himself. And if I could help him do that, I would. But I can’t. The only one who can do that is _Lance_. Besides, maybe I don’t _want_ anything to happen. Allura, this whole mermaid thing…do you really think it’d be easy to be with someone who isn’t even _human?_ I come with a lot of baggage and complications that Lance isn’t ready to deal with. I won’t ask him out because there’s no way in _hell_ I’m throwing all that shit at him right now. And we can’t just have a fling, cuz’ I like him too much for that.”

She shakes her head. “Well, you two do have one thing in common: you’re both ‘jump in with both feet kind’ of people.”

Keith almost chuckles. “I know. All or nothing. It’s kinda terrible.”

Allura looks into his eyes. “You love him, don’t you?”

“Does that matter?”

She rolls her eyes at his non-answer. “Why don’t you give him a chance then?”

“I am. I’m waiting.”

“Are you even going to tell him you’re a mermaid?”

“I did. More than once.”

“What did he say?”

“OK, Princess.”

“That’s anti-climactic.”

“Well it _does_ sound a bit ridiculous.”

“True.”

“That’s why we can talk about it in the middle of Johnny Rocket’s without worrying about eavesdroppers.”

“Maybe you should show him then.”

“When he’s not stressed about Nyma and work. I don’t want to put anything else on him right now. We can just be best friends; in our weird ‘why aren’t they dating already’ kind of way.”

“So we’re going to wait for our men to man up?” asks Allura wryly. She puts a hand around his shoulders and pulls him closer.

Keith tips his head against the side of her chest. “That seems to be the size of things.”

“Do you think they’ll _ever_ get it?”

“I’m a telepath not a fortune teller.”

Allura sighs and rests her chin on the top of his head. “Well in that case, I’m getting food before I get hangry and you pass out on me.”

“OK.”

Allura walks off to get in line. And Keith slumps over the booth table, folding his arms under his chin and staring down at a smattering of little crumbs across the faux marble. He feels raw, scrubbed clean from the inside out, and completely exposed. Literally. Between looking at pictures of his _physical_ insides and baring his soul, Keith is feeling oddly empty.

Fortunately, Allura comes back with lunch just a short seven minutes later. She sets the tray on the table as she slides onto the bench opposite him. They eat in companionable silence. Allura gets out her phone and plays Candy Crush with one thumb while she slurps her milkshake. Meanwhile, Keith gobbles down his sandwich and french-fries faster than you can say ‘ _Disney doesn’t understand mermaids._ ’ He ends up drawing the Loc Ness Monster on a paper napkin as he waits for Allura to actually _eat_ her burger.

When they’ve finished, Keith gathers the trash while Allura fishes in her scrub pocket for the keys. “Better get the Jeep back before your brother has a heart attack,” she says, swinging the keys around her finger.

“You know, if we just take off cross country, Gutless Wonder will have to follow us,” says Keith slyly as he holds the door for her.

Allura smiles back over her shoulder on her way out to the parking lot. “And who pray tell is _Gutless Wonder?_ ”

Keith snorts. “Mine’s the King of Denial. _Yours_ is Gutless Wonder.”

She shakes her head as they approach the Jeep. “I do not even know how to respond to that.”

“Yes you do,” Keith grins.

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes I do.”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

“God _damnit_ , Keith! Get in the car!”

* * *

**[Yesterday, 11:35 PM]**

**notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** Trip! Dude! Guess what!

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Matt’s robot won the Kentucky Derby

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** Wrong

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** And WTF?

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Worth a shot

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** I’m researching mermaids rn, because I finally have time, because I’m sick right. And guess whose name came up?

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Zarkon

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** Yes! How DID YOU KNOW!?!?

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Lucky guess

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** Fuck you

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Pass

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** Anyways, it wasn’t Zarkon like our boss Zarkon, it was his son. Lotor. Zarkon’s son is running around with a bunch of conspiracy theorists looking for mermaids. He’s the skeptic of the group. Like, he tries to debunk all their evidence, but it’s still hilarious! This made my night, you have no idea

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Fascinating

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** Also, did you know there’s an island off the coast of Cuba where the people claim to be descended from mermaids? They honestly believe they’re half mermaid but because of their human genes, they have to live on land. That’s like two conspiracies for the price of one! First mermaids and then genetics

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Interesting

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** What’s wrong with you? I thought you’d be excited

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** I am. Long day in the clinic. Allura is slightly evil

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** Go to bed then

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** But you’re texting me

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** Well fuck Trip! I can’t read minds like you can

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Is that a third conspiracy?

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** Go the fuck to bed if you’re going to sass me

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Shouldn’t YOU go to bed? You’re the one that’s sick

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** Sleep is for the weak

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** And the sick

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** And the sassy. Go to bed

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** You obviously don’t appreciate my research

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** I do. I said it was FASCINATING

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** That’s what I say when Lance picks up shiny things on the sidewalk!

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Your point is?

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** Good night

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** K

**[Today, 4:22 AM]**

**notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** Trip, wake up!

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** I found something

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** Most of the stuff I’ve got on mermaids looks pretty darn bogus. But I found this one article from the 70’s where this archeologist found some crazy markings in an underwater cave. They’re not like any written language I’ve ever studied. And my mom is a linguist, so I’ve studied a LOT. Some people have tried to say they’re evidence of Atlantis but what if they’re not? What if mermaids have a written language?!

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** I’m inclined to believe mermaids are real, just in general

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** Thank you for that btw

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** But this is crazy! These markings look like evidence!

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** And do you want to know what’s even crazier?

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** WTF, Tater-tot? It’s 4 in the morning.

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** I’ve seen those markings before! I’m sure of it. And not from the photos in the article. I know those symbols look familiar, but I just can’t place them

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Maybe because you’re doing your research at 4 AM!

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** Here, I’ll send you a screenshot

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Pass

[notBIOLGICALLYaPIGEON has sent an Image]

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Wow, a blurry picture of a cave. My life is complete

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** Stop being sarcastic!

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** IT IS 4 AM!!!!

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** Technically, it’s 4:41 AM

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Go. To. Sleep.

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** I CAN’T sleep. Not until I know where I’ve seen these symbols before

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Well I don’t know!

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** You’re the mermaid expert

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** I’m putting my phone on Do Not Disturb

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** TRIP NOOOOOO

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** I’m blocking you

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** I NEED ANSWERS

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** THE TRUTH IS A BITCH

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** YOURE A BITCH!

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** Fine, be like that! But you can’t hide from the truth forever! It always finds you.

 **notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON:** You hear me Trip Kogane! You’re going to have to deal with me tomorrow

**[notBIOLGOGICALLYaPIGEON has changed their name to I_BELEIVE_in_pigeons]**

* * *

It’s almost five in the morning, or sixteen at night depending on how you look at it, and Pidge is still sitting up in bed. Her back is braced against the headboard and her laptop is open across her legs. She’s got her headphones on, but her music ended hours ago. There’s an almost empty box of tissues on the pillow beside her and a forgotten glass of water on the nightstand. She ran out of Tylenol around 2:30 and has since resorted to staring longingly at the empty bottle by her feet. Because despite being sick in bed, Pidge can’t bring herself to give up on her research. Especially not when she’s on the cusp of a breakthrough. 

And what a breakthrough this last article might be! After hours upon hours of finding redundant, irrelevant, and plagiarized sites—all of which shared the same bogus images, drawings, and mythological references—she _finally_ stumbled upon a source that seemed legit. Of course, it was one of those articles that’s part of a journal and she had to pay for it; but at three in the morning, $13.50 seemed like a small price to pay. And right now, Pidge would say the article was worth every penny.

It’s 43 pages long but there are _real_ photographs; not of mermaids but perhaps of _evidence_ that they exist. There are shots of: strange whalebone tools and weaponry, fossilized skeletal fragments of prehistoric aquatic creatures, and unidentified runes etched into the walls of deep underwater caves. The photos are inconclusive at best. Indeed, Pidge isn’t disinclined to jump on board with the scholars who attribute these things to Atlantis rather than to mermaids. But then, there’s something about those runes that rub her the wrong way.

Pidge has studied hundreds of languages with her mom, including a lot of dead ones, but these runes are… _inhuman_ somehow. She’s seen them before, she’s sure of that, but not in any book she’s ever studied.

‘ _I know I’ve seen these markings before. But where?_ ’

Pidge stares at a blurry photograph of the underwater runes. Slender hieroglyphs arch delicately in the rough stone, cut by jagged bone or nail, smoothed over time and current. Her eyes water behind her glasses. She’s spent too much time staring at a screen tonight. And yet, she doesn’t close her eyes. She can’t.

These runes are an itch she can’t scratch and they’re keeping her awake.

If Pidge were a wiser person, she would try to get some sleep anyways. If Pidge were a wiser person, she would just focus on getting better. But Pidge is not a wiser person. In fact, she’s pretty darn _unwise._ Which is why instead of trying to rest and let her body heal, she grabs her phone, her laptop, and a tissue box, and heads for the Livingroom.

‘ _Where have I seen those dammed runes before? Think Pidgeon, think! Will coffee help? I think coffee will help. God, I want coffee right now._ ’

She makes herself a cup of coffee and grabs the comforter off her bed before relocating to the couch. As it turns out, coffee does _not_ hold the secrets of the universe. But it tastes good. And it’s hot. And it makes staring at the laptop _much_ easier.

Two more hours pass before Lance and Hunk get up. The sun is just starting to breach the horizon and pale pinkish light filters through the living room blinds. By now, Pidge’s coffee has gone cold and her runny nose has gone numb. There’s a tired buzzing in her ears, a constant white noise that only she can hear, and her eyes are either unwilling or unable to close despite the dull burning behind them.

“Well you look terrible,” says Lance from halfway down the ladder to the loft.

Pidge tries to glare at him. She doesn’t know if it works or not. “Even on my worst days I can still kick your ass. Remember that.”

Lance ignores her. “Didn’t you go to bed at _all_?”

“I was busy,” she shrugs.

“Making coffee I see,” says Hunk walking out of the kitchen, “the only reason I’m not chewing you out over what you did to my poor French Press is because you’re _sick._ ”

“Good to know something good came of my misery then,” she quips.

Lance folds his arms over his chest as he approaches the couch and stares down at her. “Just how much trouble can you get into in one _night?_ ”

 _Well, that can mean a lot of things._ Pidge meets her friend’s somewhat outraged, somewhat concerned gaze unflinchingly. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

“No!” Lance cries far too dramatically for Pidge’s poor ears, “you stayed up all night doing god knows what…”

“Researching.”

“You ruined Hunk’s French Press…”

“Got it dirty.”

“…you pissed off Keith…”

“Keith is always pissed off.”

“… _And_ you have a shift today. One which, as your manager, I can’t let you go too. _Again_. Because you’re still sick!”

Pidge rolls her eyes.

Hunk just looks confused. “Wait, how did she piss off Keith?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” says Lance. He glares at Pidge. “Well…”

“What makes you think I pissed him off?” Pidge asks defiantly.

Lance folds his pinwheeling arms over his chest again. “Because I texted him this morning about dropping off some more Tylenol for you since, you know, he’s not working today. And do you know what he said?”

“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

“He said, and I quote, ‘I’d rather fuck a cactus. Tell the gremlin to find another errand boy’.”

Hunk looks up from his forlorn little French Press and quirks a pointed eyebrow. “Umm Lance, isn’t that just Keith being Keith? I mean, he’s not exactly a peach in the morning.”

“ _Because…_ ” Lance drawls, “if Keith was just being Keith, he would have texted a short ‘no’ and then gone and done it anyway.”

Hunk’s eyebrow remains rooted up by his hairline, but the expression on his lips goes from one of pointed confusion to one of suspicion. “Uh huh, and you know this _how..?_ ”

Lance does the ‘thing’ where he averts his eyes slightly and tries not to blush. “Because if I ask him to do something, he always does it. He’s just…kinda _cavalier_ about it.”

Pidge snickers. “Aww Lance, you have such a sweet boyfriend.”

Lance rounds on her with his big red face. But really, he should have seen that one coming. “He’s _not_ my boyfriend. And don’t change the subject. I’m calling in for you today, but you’d better be resting and getting better. That means no research, no texting, no coffee making…” he lists the banned activities off on his fingers.

And Pidge gives him a look. “Just what _can_ I do?”

“ _Sleep_ ,” answers Hunk firmly.

“But I _can’t_ …” Pidge starts, “not until I know…”

“Yes you can. And yes you are _going_ to,” says Lance. “I’m going to sweet talk Keith into bringing you drugs and in the meantime, you’re going to rest.”

“Keith was right, you’re turning into a Junior Dolphin Dad,” Pidge gripes.

But Lance isn’t having any of it. “Go to sleep.”

“It’s just a bad cold…” she tries.

“That’s knocked you on your ass for two days!” Lance points out with an incredulous snort.

She sighs. Sometimes Pidge hates it when he goes all ‘Master of the Obvious’ on her ass. That’s usually _her_ job.

After a brief staring contest—one which Pidge’s burning eyes are not exactly up to winning—she gives up. “ _Fine_ ,” she grumbles, “but only after you help me figure out one thing.”

“What?” Lance’s eyes narrow suspiciously.

Pidge figures she kind of deserves that after all the crazy conspiracies she’s roped him into over the years. And this one is certainly no different. “I was researching mermaids last night…” she begins.

Lance and Hunk groan collectively. “Not you _too,_ ” Lance gripes.

Pidge rolls her eyes. “Shut up and pay attention,” she orders. “I was researching mermaids last night, and I stumbled on these pictures of ‘Mermaid Runes’ in an underwater cave.”

“ _Supposed_ Mermaid Runes,” Lance corrects.

She ignores the interruption. “I know I’ve seen them somewhere before, but I can’t for the life of me figure out _where_.”

“Maybe the Disney Chanel?” Lance suggests.

Pidge gives him a look. “It’s kept me up all night. All I want from you, is to look at the picture and see if you recognize the markings. Then I’ll go to bed.”

Lance and Hunk exchange a look, before Hunk shrugs and makes a move to return to the kitchen. “Couldn’t hurt,” he points out diplomatically, “it’ll be easier than arguing with her and you’ve got work to get to.”

“ _Fine._ ”

Lance moves to sit on the couch beside her as Pidge fires up her laptop again. It’s still warm underneath and the screen saver is still running. She doesn’t even have to type in her password before pulling the article up again. Rather, she’s able to go straight to scrolling down towards the black and white photographs labeled ‘Runes, fig. 13 and 14’. Pidge sets the laptop down across Lance’s knees and points to the pictures she wants him to look at.

“These markings, I’ve seen them somewhere before,” Pidge repeats.

Now resigned to his fate, Lance gives the runes a cursory inspection. “Hieroglyphics?”

“No. Not quite. And they’re in the wrong…”

“Greek?”

“Lance, no. And Greek and hieroglyphs don’t look _anything_ alike.”

“Well I don’t know then!”

“You’re not even _looking._ ”

“I _am_ looking!” Lance snaps. But he does give the pictures a better look. She can see the screen reflected in his blue eyes as his face twitches through various phases of recognition while searching the images more carefully. After a moment of silence, Lance sits back a bit and leans more heavily into the cushions. Skepticism and confusion chase each other across his lips. “Huh…that’s funny,” he says after a moment.

“What? _What’s_ funny?” Pidge demands excitedly.

“I’ve seen these before,” Lance says slowly.

She rolls her eyes impatiently. “OK, but _where?_ ”

“I don’t know these symbols specifically, but the general…I don’t know what you call it…like shape? Design? The way they look is similar to those markings that Keith makes on his abstract paintings.” Lance laughs shortly. “I didn’t realize he was such a _nerd_. I mean _really_ ; painting obscure languages because some idio _t_ archeologist says that they _might_ be mermaid runes? I mean come _on_.”

But Pidge has stopped listening. She’s stopped listening because she thinks she’s figured it out. While Lance’s skeptical ass may have concluded that Keith got the runes from this article, Pidge has a different theory: the article got the runes from Keith. Or from his people at any rate. What may have started as a question of _how real are mermaids in general_ , is now a question of _just how mermaid is Keith_?

Now glued unblinking to the couch, Pidge goes through the signals in her head:

  1. Keith can talk to dolphins (apparently, that’s not a joke)
  2. He can read minds (literally, not figuratively)
  3. He told them all he was a mermaid (Keith is many things, but a liar is not one of them)
  4. He can hold his breath for an insanely long time
  5. Keith is a fast swimmer
  6. He never prunes in the water, like _ever_ , like his skin is basically waterproof
  7. He’s super strong. As in stronger than Shiro kind of strong, and he doesn’t even _work out_
  8. His accent. It could just be a slight Australian accent except for two things: one, Keith has never been to Australia, and two, when he talks, Pidge swears there’s a little melody to his voice
  9. He never sweats
  10. He falls over a _lot_ as if he never learned how to use his legs



When faced with this overwhelming list of mer-flags, Pidge feels a little stupid for not putting two and two together sooner. ‘ _KEITH!_ _That asshole was being straight with us the whole time!_ ’

“Umm…Pidge…are you OK?” she suddenly registers Lance poking her shoulder with his index finger, “I think you should go lie down now.”

Pidge turns to face her friend directly and squeezes his beautiful cheeks between her hands excitedly. “Lance, you _magnificent_ human you!” she exclaims.

Lance just stares at her dumbfounded.

Without explanation, Pidge stands up abruptly and runs to her room for a change of clean clothes. She whips off her chilly sweat soaked pajamas and grabs the first tee-shirt she sees. She ties her greasy bangs back with a little peach bandana and calls it good before pocketing a small stack of tissues. Then, Pidge grabs the keys to the Thunderbird and rushes out the front door before Lance and Hunk have a chance to stop her.

“Bye guys,” she calls over her shoulder.

“ _Hey!”_ Lance snaps, “what about our deal?”

But Pidge has already slammed the door.

* * *

Pidge is going to _kill_ Keith.

Screw texting or calling—the bastard already blocked her number—Pidge is going straight to the spider’s web.

Just under 15 minutes later, Pidge pulls up to the Luxite Trailer Park gate. It’s closed. Shut up with a rusty unhinged padlock without a key. The chain-link fence which runs around the perimeter of the park is warped and rusted, covered with various vintage signs, and almost overtaken by tall weeds. Beyond the gate are about fifty mobile trailers, each parked in somewhat haphazardly organized lines on the dry grass. There’s a singular gravel road that cuts straight through the park, rising over a slight incline towards a distant point where the sun meets the trees.

But none of these things interest her very much. What _does_ interest her are the many ‘No Trespassing’, ‘Private Property’, and ‘Warning: old army veteran with a gun, a shovel, and nothing to lose,’ signs posted left of the gate. Personally, she likes the one which reads, ‘My name is Colonel Martin Antock, you touch our mermaid, prepare to die.’

Pidge has to get out of the car to open the gate; the low hanging underbelly of which scrapes across the dirt with a painful grating noise. She can’t get it open far, barely enough to get the T-Bird through the opening, but she figures she’ll be able to make it. She scratches the paint a little. Hunk will be pissed. But they _do_ share the car, so the scratched half can be her half. _Flawless logic_.

She drives along the road between the trailers for a good five and a half minutes before finally admitting she has no clue where she’s going. Pidge is just about to call Shiro for help when she comes to the very back of the park. There, behind a dilapidated storehouse and a small cluster of palm trees, is Keith’s Cherry Red Corolla. It’s parked out in front of a little vintage trailer upon which the words ‘Beware of Mermaid’ have been spray painted in big red letters. 

_Keith_.

Pidge parks the car beside Keith’s and jogs up the steps to the front door. “Trip!” she shouts pounding her fists on the door, “get your mermaid ass…”

The door suddenly gives way, and Pidge stumbles through the threshold to land belly down in a pile of paint tubes and laundry. Her glasses fall off their perch on her face and skitter across the floor. She expects to see Keith’s feet right by her face. But they aren’t. When she looks up, Keith is halfway across the trailer, only partly dressed, with a pop tart hanging out of his mouth.

Wide-eyed but recovering quickly, Keith takes the pop tart out of his mouth with one hand and finishes putting on his shirt with the opposite arm. “What the fuck Tater-Tot?” he demands.

Pidge wipes her nose with her arm as she regains her feet. “You’re a mermaid!”

Keith folds his arms over his chest and gives her a blank look. “You broke into my house at sunrise to tell me _that?_ ”

“You’re _already_ up,” she points out.

“Because Lance texted me to bring you drugs!” Keith looks legitimately pissed. But Pidge ignores the point. She’s still mad at him.

“You’re a mermaid!” she exclaims.

Keith rolls his eyes. “Yes. And you’re sick.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a mermaid?”

“Umm…I _did_. Why aren’t you sick someplace else?”

Pidge throws her hands in the air in a gesture reminiscent of one of Lance’s. “That’s not the point!” she says, “last night when I texted you…”

“Yes, no need to remind me of _that_ …” says Keith, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Pidge persists. “I sent you pictures of Mermaid Runes last night. I asked you where they came from. I spent all night— _all night_ Keith—staring at those stupid runes. Why didn’t you just tell me…”

“No,” he holds up a hand, “you asked me where you’d _seen them before._ I don’t know where you’ve seen Mermaid Runes before!”

Thoroughly exasperated, Pidge points at the stacks of abstract paintings leaning against the trailer walls. All blue and white and aquamarine scrapes of thick paint, upon which the mermaid runes have been layered in oils like taffy. “There!” she points excitedly, “where else would I have seen those runes besides on _your_ paintings.”

“Disney Channel perhaps?” Keith deadpans.

Pidge loses it. “You’re such and asshole sometimes! God! I mean, you could have just told me! But _no,_ you let me suffer all night looking for those runes, and if Lance hadn’t…either you should have told me everything or…”

“ _Hey_ ,” Keith snaps, probably more harshly than he meant, “it’s not my fault you didn’t believe me. It’s not _my_ fault I’m supposed to be a myth, or a fairytale, or extinct, or _whatever_ mermaids are supposed to be. I’ve never lied to you Pidge! Ever. You can believe in aliens, and Mothman, and Big Foot, but throw a mermaid into the mix, and suddenly you’re just trying to humor your friend!”

“You should have just come clean instead of…,” she shouts back.

“Instead of what? Instead of protecting myself?”

“Instead of teasing me. Instead of making a big joke out of it!”

“Well it _is_ a joke!” Keith runs a shaking hand through his mop of unbrushed hair. He’s more emotional than Pidge has ever seen him and suddenly she feels bad. If she hadn’t been sick, if she hadn’t been focusing on the blur and burn in her sleepy eyes, she would have seen it sooner. “It’s either a joke or it’s a tragedy,” Keith continues, “I’m a mermaid that got stuck on land. I have to swim in a kiddie pool in front of my house because the coves and bays and shit are too dangerous. I’m a fairytale creature hiding in plain sight. I’m a myth nobody believes in.”

_A joke or a tragedy._

“ _Trip_ …” Pidge takes a few steps closer and wraps her arms around his slim waist and gives him a gentle squeeze.

She feels his arms fold round her shoulder and his chest rumbles when he speaks. “Are you wiping your nose on my shirt?”

“Fuck you, I’m trying to be nice now,” Pidge buries her nose into his shoulder. “Is that why all the conspiracies?”

“Huh?” his chin lands gently on the top of her head.

Pidge chuckles to herself. Because while Keith’s situation is a little tragic, she thinks she’s starting to see the humor in it. She’s starting to understand why Keith is the way he is. “You’re a mermaid that believes in aliens and Mothman and the Lock Ness Monster. It just, it all makes sense now. You believe in all the things most humans just can’t.”

And Keith chuckles. “I’m a myth that believes in urban legends and shit. It makes sense, right? I mean, us myths gotta stick together. It…never mind.”

“No, what?” she looks up at him.

Keith looks away, eyes roaming the trailer. She thinks he might not finish the thought, and Pidge figures she’ll have to be OK with that. But then, in a low rough voice, he answers her. “It’s less lonely, I guess. You know like, believing that there are other…things…out there like me doesn’t make land feel too big. And you know sometimes, I wonder if maybe aliens and Mothman believe in _me_. Well, you know, in mermaids. Because, they’re not supposed to be real either. Maybe they need to believe in mermaids because…” He interrupts himself with a little laugh. “I mean, I’m not about to start a Lonely-Hearts club for beached mermaids, stranded aliens, and cryptids, but I do want to believe I’m not alone in this human world.”

And that just might be the saddest thing Pidge has ever heard in her life. Who knew? She spent the better part of high school looking for aliens and things nobody else believed in. And now she’s met a real-life mermaid. And he isn’t anything like she’d ever imagined. Keith Kogane does not fit the myths and legends. He does not fit the Disney profile. He is so much more.

Pidge hugs him a little tighter. “I don’t know why you’re stuck on land with us, but…” she sniffles and blames it on her cold, “I’m really fucking glad you’re my friend.”

“Yeah, me too Tater-Tot. Me too.”

Neither of them are real big on demonstrations of affection like hugging or crying, but they don’t pull away. Indeed, Pidge isn’t so sure they _can_. Because she’s basically borrowing Keith’s legs right now to keep herself upright. Which is kind of ironic considering the fact that Keith is an accident-prone mermaid who can’t make it across the room without tripping over something.

“You can keep a secret right?” says Keith after a minute. He takes her by the shoulders and pushes her away enough to get a good look at her face.

Pidge quirks an eyebrow. “Well I can, but can you?” When he just looks confused, she elaborates. “I mean, you did straight up tell us all you’re a mermaid.”

He shakes his head. “No not that secret. About the umm…” Keith rubs the back of his neck, “about the Lonely Hearts club.”

“Umm…sure? But why?”

“Because there are a lot of good people here that have done so much to take care of me. I don’t want them to think they’re not enough. Shiro, he’s…well he’s done a lot for me and if he thought I was lonely, he’d think it was his fault. He’d think he just didn’t do enough. Same for Antock and Peggy. I don’t want them to think that.”

“I will take your secret to the grave.” Pidge crosses her heart for emphasis.

Keith just gives her a wan smile. “It’s either a tragedy or a joke.”

“ _Trip,_ my man, you are not as funny as you think you are,” says Pidge crossing her arms over her chest.

He laughs. “You should be at home in bed.”

“See what I mean? Not funny.”

“That _wasn’t a_ joke. You’re sick.”

“I’m not going home.”

Keith points at the bed, unmade and cluttered as it is. “Then sleep here. Poseidon knows _I_ never get to use it.”

“No,” says Pidge. But she sniffles which doesn’t help much. “As long as I’m here, I want to see your mermaid tail.”

Keith looks about as surprised by the request as she feels. “What? Why?”

She shrugs. “Curiosity maybe. I want to know what you really look like.”

“Umm…like myself?” he tries. _Not helpful._

“Come on Trip. If you don’t show me, then I won’t go to bed,” she says defiantly, “curiosity is a bitch you know.”

“Lance and Hunk will _kill_ me if I let you stand outside in the cold while you’re sick.”

“What Lance doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“But…”

Pidge sniffles loudly but tries to muffle it behind her tissue. “Let’s fill up that kiddie pool. I wanna see a mermaid!”

Five minutes later, Keith and Pidge are both piled into the kiddie pool. The water is icy, inflatable sides still dripping with morning dew, warmed only slightly by the ever-rising sun behind them. Keith has his laptop out, browser open to articles on mermaid mythology, while Pidge stands behind him with an umbrella to shade the screen. They go through the internet. Pidge asks questions about where mythology is wrong, and Keith supplies her with either the truth or with a theory as to how humans may have come to the conclusions they did.

For example, Pidge wanted to know why ancient mythology only depicts mermaids: female mer-people. And Keith ended up going on a ten-minute tangent about how that’s because mermaids are so androgynous by human standards that sailors probably just mistook them all for women. Additionally, the vast majority of mermaids are expressed females. Which Pidge finds absolutely fascinating.

They come up with theories together, laugh at how wrong humans are about everything, and revel in their secrets. One day, Pidge means to make believers out of Lance and Hunk. Because Keith will just keep being Keith if she doesn’t; he’ll just keep telling them the truth for them not to believe. Perhaps, it’s like religion that way; eyes may look but never see.

It’s either a tragedy or a joke.

Keith promises that one day, when they’re ready, Lance and Hunk will know the truth. When they need to know, they will. It’s like how Keith wants to wait for animals to tell him their names: kind of silly, kind of adorable, kind of frustrating. And all very time consuming. Pidge doesn’t have that kind of patience. She plans to help things along. Even if that means hitting Lance over the head with a copy of _The Little Mermaid_ and screaming ‘ _wake up bitch! I found the love of your life. And guess what! He's a mermaid!'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Hey guys, thanks for reading as always. My apologies for centering the whole chapter on Keith. Lance will probably get his own chapter as well later down the line. There were just a few things I felt I needed to explore about Keith’s character first. Mostly because in my head, I have an entire mermaid mythos—only a small part of which made it into the chapter—all of which came to be because I’m a literature nerd and because I asked myself the stupid question ‘how does a mermaid get a social security number?’ I’m not kidding; that’s why I wrote this story. TBH, I’m not sure how this royal fuckery of a story is going or where it’s going to end up. I’m pulling out my hair over this silly thing XD Ah well, at least I’m having fun.
> 
> Be a mermaid and believe! Peace out, Ghostwriter_Red


	8. The Time They Bonded at the Diner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith takes Lance to Vrepit Sall's for dinner after work. It's just an outing as friends--they do this kind of thing a lot after all--but when Lance starts flirting with the hapless waitress, things go a little off script. Lance accuses Keith of being jealous and it all goes uphill from there.

“ _Lance!_ ” Pidge sounds exasperated, “will you just look at the evidence?”

“ _What_ evidence?” Lance demands, and not for the first time.

Since the weekend, Pidge has been _obsessed_ with mermaids. Or more specifically, obsessed with proving that Keith is a mermaid—go figure—and it’s starting to get to the point where Lance and Hunk think she might actually _believe_ it. Pidge is a hard-core conspiracy theorist, they know this about her, but this obsession has been a bit much even from Pidge. And Lance is starting to get just a little worried about what she does in her free time. Maybe he should take her computer away; and while he’s at it, he should hide her library card.

Keith of course is of no help whatsoever. He seems to find the whole thing endlessly amusing and has taken to trolling all parties involved with the same wry comments. If he would just stop being a dick for five minutes, they might be able to get this whole thing solved in a snap. But no. Of course not. Because it’s Keith and he’d rather just sit back and watch the world burn; you know, like an _asshole_.

If he’s not a mermaid—which of course he’s not—then this whole thing is so utterly _preposterous_ , that Lance can almost understand why he’s letting it go. He probably just wants to see how long everyone can keep up with this stupidity. Honestly, in his shoes, Lance would probably do the same thing. But if Keith _is_ a mermaid, as impossible as it sounds, then Lance is going to be seriously annoyed. Because that means that Keith isn’t just an asshole, he’s a _huge_ asshole. He obviously knows that normal people won’t believe a word of it, so he tells only the blatant truth and leads the world by the nose. Which, now that Lance thinks about it, _does_ sound like a very Keith thing to do…

“I’m telling you Lance, there’s…”

“Something… _fishy_ …about him?” Lance finishes for her. He waggles his eyebrows.

Pidge doesn’t look amused. “Having fun, are you?”

“A little bit,” he allows.

Lance steps back into the water beside Pidge and stands on B Deck’s lower ledge, the small platform which is just under knee deep in the dolphin’s training pool. He slaps his hand on the surface of the water three times and waits. Coco and Stitch show up a couple seconds later and he tosses them each a fish from the cooler for their obedience. He takes a small plastic canister from Allura’s secondary veterinary kit and twists the lid off. He holds it upside down about an inch above Coco’s blowhole and instructs her to forcefully exhale. The dolphin does as she’s bidden and a quick spray rockets into the canister.

Pidge continues to talk conspiracy as Lance passes the sputum sample her way. “Let’s just look at the facts…”

He rolls his eyes patronizingly. “Here we go again.”

“Shut up,” Pidge screws the cap back onto the sample and labels it ‘Coco.’ “Think about it, Keith is a telepath…”

“He’s psychic,” Lance corrects, “like my bisabuela. Weird, but pretty legit I think.”

“He’s a _telepath_ ,” Pidge insists, even as Lance rolls his eyes again, “he talks to the _dolphins_. Who else would talk to dolphins except a mermaid?”

“I don’t know, Keith apparently. Hand me that other canister, will you?”

She passes the next canister from the kit. “He can ‘hold his breath’ longer than anyone ought to be able to.”

“So?” Lance takes the sputum sample from Stitch and hands it back to Pidge.

“So, do you really think he’s holding his breath the whole time?”

“Duh. What else would he be doing?”

Pidge pretends to think it over. “Gee, I don’t know. How about… _he’s breathing under water!_ ”

Lance tosses Coco and Stitch each a handful of herring for their cooperation in the routine medical procedure. “Pidge,” he says distractedly as Red and Chanelle swim up to the platform for their turns, “don’t you think you’re taking this joke a _bit_ far?”

“No.” She passes him another canister. “And why aren’t you even the least bit curious?”

“Because it’s stupid” he says, “mermaids don’t exist.”

“How do you know that?”

“Um because…I mean, have you ever _seen_ a mermaid?”

“ _Literally Keith!_ ” Pidge cries as he hands Red’s sample back to her. “I _work_ with a fucking mermaid. And so do you.”

“Nope.” Lance takes the next canister out of the kit himself and holds it above Chanelle’s blowhole. “Although I will grant you, if anyone I knew _was_ a secret mermaid, it would be Keith…That would almost be kind of cool, don’t you think? I mean, in this hypothetical world, I wonder what our children would look like.”

Pidge almost squawks. “Your _what?_ ”

Lance rolls his eyes as he screws the lid back onto Chanelle’s sputum sample with one hand and tosses her a handful of fish with the other. “Our kids. Since it’s a completely hypothetical world, I can wonder those things. Like, what would half mermaid kids look like? Keith is kinda easy on the eyes and I’m fucking gorgeous so…”

“Lance!” Pidge squeals, “that’s not what I…that’s imposs… _Lance!_ Why are you like this? It’s so messed up.”

But Lance has already entered another headspace entirely and has stopped listening as he fiddles with the canister lid. “Those kids would probably be little terrors—I can’t imagine that Keith is a good influence on anyone—but they’d probably be cute as hell.” He laughs at the internal images that flash past his brain. “Can you imagine seeing Keith’s big mercury eyes in a little brown moon-face with a head of curly black hair? That would be _adorable!_ ”

“Lance…” Pidge snatches the canister out of his hands and sets it on the deck with the other samples, “will you please be serious for once?”

Lance folds his arms over his chest and glares down at her with mock annoyance. “ _Me?_ You’re the one calling Keith a mermaid.”

“Because he _is_ …”

“So how is that any _less_ serious than me imagining what our kids would look like?”

“You’re not…that’s not…you’re both _guys!_ ”

Lance rolls his eyes, annoyed. “Not if Keith is a mermaid. You know mer- _maid_. I’ll bet mermaids can do whatever the fuck they want!”

“Lance, I’m being serious about this!” Pidge snaps.

“Well, maybe _I’m_ being serious,” Lance counters, “I mean, if mermaids _were_ real, who knows how they’d work?!”

“But Keith…” she pauses for a moment as everything Lance just said finally catches up with her, “ _wait_ , are you thinking about fucking Keith?” She inhales sharply, “are you thinking about _marrying_ him?! Because if so…”

“Woah, stop the train there, Pidgeon-pie. I’m only thinking about marrying _mermaid_ Keith. Human Keith is too…he’s…his mullet is intolerable. I can’t. I refuse. Nah-uh, no way. Even if he begged me.”

“What if I cut my hair?” Keith is suddenly standing behind him up on B Deck and looking down at Lance with wry amusement. His arms are folded casually over his chest, his bangs falling free of their pins and hanging low over his eyes, and his lips are quirked sideways as they often are when he finds something stupidly hilarious.

Lance’s face heats up to the point where he’s sure that his ears are turning red at the very least, and probably his cheeks as well. _Shit_. But Lance has had enough practice at dealing with Keith by now to be able to come up with a half-decent comeback. “Well, that remains to be seen. For all I know, you’d look like an alien with short hair.”

“Is that so?” Keith asks, shifting his weight into one hip without releasing Lance from his sharp gaze. His little smirk almost becomes a full on grin—or as close to a grin as Keith ever gets—and it’s entirely too soft and teasing for Lance to handle.

“What is, ‘sexual tension’?” Pidge snorts to his right.

Lance splashes her in the face. “Shut the fuck up. This is all your fault, you know.”

For his part, Keith merely laughs in that almost fond way of his and squats down on his haunches so that he’s no longer towering above them. “Making any headway there, Tater-tot?”

Pidge glares back at Keith over her shoulder. “You dick,” she growls at the same time as which Lance snorts, “was that a pun?”

Keith merely shrugs one shoulder. “Knowledge is pain, you know.”

“Which one of us are you talking to?” Lance asks.

“Does it matter?”

“ _You_ …oh for fuck sake, Trip!” snaps Pidge. “Why must you do this to me?”

“My secret, my rules,” says Keith easily.

“It’s not a ‘secret’ if you tell literally everyone,” says Pidge.

At which point, Lance gets completely lost. Like _seriously_ , is this still about the mermaid thing? Because if it is, Lance is going to murder both of these idiots, best friends or not. “The fuck are you guys talking about?” he demands.

“Keith is a mermaid!” Pidge hisses, “but he’s also a _dick_.”

Keith’s answering smile is maniacal. But also, beautiful. God, this boy is _deadly_. “I am.” And then he winks. He fucking WINKS, and lance is _gone_.

Thankfully oblivious to Lance’s reddening face, Pidge continues to glare at Keith. “Happy yet?”

“On a scale from one to ten?” Keith smirks.

“That’s it! You two idiots deserve each other. I’m out.”

Pidge steps off the pool’s lower ledge back up to B Deck. She leaves Allura’s kit on the cement beside the pool, alongside the small array of sputum samples, for Keith to take back to the clinic. She walks away slightly irritated, and for some reason, Keith seems to think that’s funny. Not that Lance _doesn’t_ think it’s funny. He’s just terribly confused.

He walks over to the other side of the platform where Pidge had been standing and starts repacking the kit. “Just what was all that about?” Lance asks.

Keith stands up again and walks over to collect the samples they took for Allura. “She thinks I’m being a dick.”

Now it’s Lance’s turn to roll his eyes. “Well I got that much.”

Keith merely sighs. “You know how I keep telling you I’m a mermaid?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, it’s true. But you don’t believe me. And you’re not going to believe me no matter how many times I tell you. Not unless I turn into a mermaid right in front of you.” Keith looks Lance directly in the eye preemptively stopping his incredulous interruption. “And before you accuse me of ‘taking this joke a little far’, I’m done talking about it.”

Lance frowns. “Why?”

“Because you’ve got enough stuff on your mind, don’t you think?”

“I’ve always got a lot of stuff on my mind, Keith. That’s never going to change,” Lance points out. “It’s just how I am.”

“I know.”

Lance zips up the med kit and loops the long canvas strap over Keith’s shoulder. “Ok, so let’s say in this hypothetical world that you really were a mermaid, why wouldn’t you just show me your mermaid tail and have done with it? I mean, in this hypothetical world, you probably already showed Pidge. So why not me? Why not just prove it? After all, seeing is believing.”

“No. Seeing is seeing. And believing is believing. Seeing is the shortcut. Believing means having faith, trust, and fucking pixi-dust,” says Keith.

Lance snorts. “Cute. But you didn’t answer my question.”

Impressed, but also annoyed at being called out on his bullshit, Keith diverts his gaze, eyes traveling out over the water. “Maybe I want you to learn to take me at my word. Maybe I want you to just trust me to tell you the truth, you know, the long way. No shortcuts. Or maybe I’m afraid to show you. Maybe I’m afraid you couldn’t like…handle having a mermaid for a…friend. Maybe I like how things are and I don’t want things to be awkward between us again.”

“That’s a lot of maybes for a hypothetical world,” Lance points out.

“Yeah. It is.” Keith laughs and shoves two of the sputum samples in his scrub pocket so he doesn’t’ have to carry them. He stands and smiles down at Lance. “But in this ‘hypothetical world’, I’d show you eventually.”

Lance smiles back at him. “Who knows, maybe you’re actually Peter Pan.”

“How is that more plausible?” Keith asks, eyebrow heading for his hairline.

“Well, you _do_ have a way with gravity…” says Lance.

Keith throws his head back and laughs, eyes crinkling a little at the corners, belly heaving with the force of it, mouth opening in a wide grin that’s just a little much to handle. But Lance is a glutton for punishment, so he keeps looking.

“Right, gravity. My arch nemesis.” Keith makes a move to head back to Allura’s clinic when he pauses and looks over his shoulder at Lance. “You know I trust you, right Lance? Even if sometimes…I’m kind of a cryptic asshole.”

“I know,” says Lance, “maybe I think the mermaid thing is just a big fat practical joke—or er…impractical joke—but who knows, if it’s true, then you just might make a believer out of me yet.”

“Fucking Pixi-dust,” Keith jokes.

“Yeah,” Lance agrees, “and oh, before I forget, can you drive me home tonight so Hunk and Pidge can take the car? I have to stay an extra fifteen minutes or so to finish up the script changes for the dolphin show.”

“Sure. If you don’t mind making a stop at Ziforge Canvas. I want to get there before they close.”

“Cool by me. Thanks man.”

“No problem.”

Keith walks away down the deck and over the footbridge towards the aquarium proper and Allura’s veterinary clinic. Lance watches him go and tries his best not to watch his perky little butt and the way his hips sway like seagrass when he walks. Everything about Keith makes Lance think about the ocean and he kind of likes it. No, strike that, he likes it very much.

 _Hey, maybe he really is a mermaid. That would make things easier. I’m allowed to marry Mermaid Keith_.

Or at least he’s allowed to think about that. Because he knows that there’s like a one in one-bajillion chance that Keith really is a mermaid, which means that’s the one in one-bajillion chance that Lance is actually good enough for him. Those odds are slim but better than none. Realistic. And Lance needs realistic odds if he’s going to keep his feet planted firmly on planet earth. He can let himself fantasize about that one in a bajillion chance too much, because he knows it’ll never happen. He’s going to end up with Nyma, probably divorced and remarried to her at some point, but at least he won’t be alone. It is perhaps a sad future to expect, even if she’s meant to be ‘the love of his life,’ but it’s realistic. And Lance needs to be realistic now that he isn’t a child anymore.

And yet…wouldn’t that be a fantasy and a half? To be married to a beautiful mermaid who could read his mind, and know all his deepest darkest secrets, and still love him anyways.

Despite the best efforts of Lance’s realistic logical brain, his heart whispers traitorous thoughts like these. In his heart, Lance accepts that he doesn’t _want_ to end up with Nyma—not now that he’s met someone he likes so much better—and in his heart, he wants to believe in fairytale endings again. He wants to be the knight in shining armor, the handsome prince, and the lovestruck poet all in one. But only in his heart.

Because under all the layers and layers of laughter and hurt and laughter again, the truth is actually pretty simple: Lance needs to learn how to dream again. He needs to learn how to believe again. He needs to relearn how to have faith in the people who love him most. But for the time being, he’s blinded by hurt and doubt and shame. Life has taught him how to be cynical, how to hide behind his jokes, how to be realistic with his expectations. Lance is a work in progress, as is every boy his age, and he has a lot of work to do if he wants to climb out of this pit he finds himself in. Sadly, there are no shortcuts. Not in real life. Learning to trust again—learning to believe—is work. And it’s work only Lance can do for himself.

* * *

One hour later, Lance is alone in Shiro’s office sitting behind the desk making changes to the Dolphin Show script. It’s more tedious than difficult, but it’s still the kind of work Lance was afraid he’d be doing when Shiro made him the deck manager. With his dyslexia, Lance finds this sort of thing absolutely horrible. He’d told Keith he needed to stay fifteen minutes late, but at the rate he’s going, it’s going to be more like forty-five.

Unable to restrain himself from vocalizing his frustration, Lance clasps his hands behind his head and throws himself backward in his chair with an anguished groan. No one is there to hear him of course, which makes him even more frustrated. Lance stares at the screen as if it personally offends him and makes no further move to get his work done. Instead, he glances at the clock behind him. Funny, that clock says the same thing as the one in the bottom corner of the computer screen. Must be seven fourteen.

“You can do it McClain,” Lance tells himself out loud, “no more distractions.”

He flexes and crunches his fingers like a college student preparing to write a long-ass essay. Shaking out his arms from the elbow down, his hands hover over the keyboard for another three seconds before he gives up again.

“This is pointless!” he snaps at himself, sinking lower into the chair.

“What’s pointless?” Keith’s voice calls from the doorway around the corner.

“This script!” Lance grouses, “making all these little changes is stupid! I don’t see why we have to cut out that sixth part. Nyma always handles it fine.”

Keith suddenly appears in the office entrance with his street clothes bundled under one arm. “I find it’s best not to question Shiro sometimes; you won’t always like the answer.”

Lance groans again. “He’s made so many changes lately, it’s hard to keep up with all of them.”

“Wouldn’t life be boring otherwise?” Keith asks.

“No,” Lance grouses.

For his part, Keith just rolls his eyes. “Get your work done Lance. I need to get some lacquer before Ziforge closes.” He disappears around the corner again and Lance assumes he’s gone to change.

Pouting, Lance types two words into the script under the part labeled ‘Red’. But that’s as far as he gets before he’s throwing himself bodily into the seatback again and taking Shiro’s favorite spinny chair for a quick joyride.

“ _Lance_ ,” Keith’s disapproving voice carries from the breakroom around the corner, “quit goofing off and get the script done.”

“I _can’t_ ,” Lance groans. He doesn’t even bother to ask _how_ Keith knows he’s goofing off anymore. He just assumes it’s a Keith thing at this point.

“If you get it all done in five minutes, dinner at Vrepit Sall’s is on me.” Keith reappears dressed in a pair of tightfitting black slacks, a black tee with edgy looking roses, and a pair of bright red converse with blue paint on the toe. His hair is free of the braid Lance put it in earlier and is curling down the nape of his neck like an inky little waterfall. He’s beautiful in anything he wears—even when he and Peggy accidently mix up their laundry and he ends up wearing mom jeans and girl shirts—but Lance likes him best in his own aesthetic: a little edgy, a little magical, all 100 percent unapologetic.

Lance smirks at Keith from behind the desktop monitor to hide his flushed cheeks. “Are you asking me out to dinner?” he teases.

“Will that make you get your work done?” Keith counters, leaning into the office doorframe and crossing one ankle casually in front of the other.

“Depends, do I get a drink with my dinner?” Lance asks, waggling an eyebrow.

Keith snorts. “You’ve got five minutes, Casanova.”

“You’re no fun,” Lance grouses.

But the promise of a free dinner, and dinner with Keith no less, is too good to pass up. Lance cracks his fingers again, pulls Shiro’s handwritten notes towards him on the desk, and gets to work. He somehow manages to focus on making the little changes to the script and pretty soon, the sixth role of the Voltron show has been cut out completely. Nyma’s old part, the one previously named ‘Aqua’, is gone. Which is a little weird to think about, but not so weird that Lance can’t get over it. All her old lines are more or less still there, but have been transferred over to ‘Red.’ Lance might not see the point of it all, but at least it’s done, and now he can go get dinner with Keith.

He jogs back to the breakroom to change out of his uniform Tee-shirt—because seriously Shiro, who wears magenta if they can help it—and throws on a pair of navy Hilfiger shorts, a nautical mermaid button down, and his favorite white wristwatch. As an afterthought, he grabs the comb out of the locker organizer, and gives his hair a quick touchup. There isn’t a mirror in the breakroom, but Lance is at least reasonably confident that he looks pretty good. Certainly, good enough for Vrepit Sall’s even if he’s not good enough for Keith.

“Ok, I’m ready!” Lance announces.

Keith looks up from where he’s still leaned against the office doorway as he pockets his phone. “You look nice.”

_How does he always do that?_ Lance can’t be sure he isn’t blushing, so he strikes a quick pose and bats his eyelashes. “Do you really think so?”

“I do. Now, let’s get going before Ziforge closes,” says Keith. He pushes off the wall and heads for the door, smooth as ever.

Knowing better than to push his luck with another self-elevating joke, Lance follows Keith down the path back to the employee parking lot. Keith’s Corolla is parked in his new favorite spot, the one under the magnolia tree, and is covered in wilting white flower petals. The finger paint on the back windshield is completely covered by pollen and dust and petals, like his Ex never mattered. And Lance is almost jealous of Keith’s ability to just move on and keep going without feeling guilty or sad or stuck.

While Keith heads for the driver’s side, Lance hops into the passenger seat. The cracked leather doesn’t burn the backs of his thighs this time, and Lance knows why Keith likes to park under the magnolia tree even if it makes a mess of his car. Keith is a function over fashion kind of guy—very practical—which is sometimes really nice. He’s certainly the opposite of Lance there, which has worked out surprisingly well for their friendship thus far.

Keith tosses his wetsuit and dirty scrubs into the back seat with his ever-growing pile of art supplies and general crap. “You good if I put on The Ramones?” he asks even as he hooks his cracked iPod Nano up to the Aux cord.

“Whatever you want man,” says Lance, “just no more Boston or English Beat.”

“Ye of little taste,” Keith teases as he sets the iPod in the cupholder between them.

“Hey, _rude_ ,” says Lance. They’ll probably never agree about music, but that’s totally fine.

 _Blitzkrieg Bop_ comes over loud and clear—which is fine because Lance _loves_ this song—as Keith wraps an arm around the back of Lance’s seat and twists his body to see out the rear windshield. He backs up. They head down the road at top speed because that’s just the way Keith drives. Lance rolls down all the windows and turns the music up as they go. They both end up singing along; Lance like a fucking pop-star and Keith like a bloodthirsty siren. _Blitzkrieg Bop_ switches over to _Rock and Roll Highschool_ , which in turn switches to _Pet Cemetery_ and _Poison Heart_.

Their stop at the art store is pretty quick. Keith knows exactly what he wants and heads for the paint isle without even glancing at the shelves and shelves of art supplies. Lance is immediately drawn to the shiny metallic markers and spends most of the time he’s in the store testing them out on the little pad of paper provided by the store. He’s enraptured with the sparkle of it all, and even though he isn’t artistic, he wants these markers. Unfortunately, Keith is an efficient little shit, and has already bought his incredibly boring tub of lacquer in under two minutes flat. Which means Lance has to say goodbye to his super shiny markers. It’s tragic really. But then again, free dinner, so who is Lance to complain?

Vrepit Sall’s is only four minutes from Ziforge Canvas. It’s a little sea-side shack with neon signage that hasn’t been updated since 1972. It is hemmed in between a hair salon and the local Fishing Museum that nobody ever goes to, overshadowed by towering telephone posts and random streetlamps, and plopped right in the middle of an unorganized parking lot. The building itself is asymmetrical and the handrail along the front steps is rusting, but the windows are clean and the air smells delightfully of fresh burgers and milkshakes.

Keith makes his own parking space behind the diner because there are no spots to speak of, and the duo heads inside. The hostess seats them at a little booth in the back-left corner and leaves them with a couple laminated menus, two sets of silverware wrapped in white paper napkins, and a wire basket with mustard and Ketchup.

Lance stretches out his back before hunching over his menu. “Any idea what you’re getting?” he asks absently without glancing at Keith.

“Fish. I don’t really care what kind.”

“Typical.”

Keith just laughs. “Why, what are you getting?”

Lance lifts the menu up in front of his face and peers over the top of it. “You may never know.”

“You don’t have a clue, do you?” Keith teases, “Mr. Indecision.”

“Hey, I have a _clue_ ,” Lance gasps, “several in fact, I’ll have you know.”

“Is that so?” Keith unwraps a set of silverware and straightens out his napkin on the lacquered tabletop. He pulls a red ballpoint pen out of his pocket and taps it thoughtfully against his cheek. “Let me guess, the waitress is going to come over, ask what you want, and that’s when you’re going to _finally_ make a decision.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” says Lance defiantly.

“Um-hum.” Keith starts sketching something on the napkin, but Lance can’t even begin to guess what it is. “They say history is doomed to repeat itself.”

Lance sticks out his tongue even though he knows Keith isn’t looking.

Which is when their waitress shows up because that’s just the kind of luck Lance has. She is what some people might consider non-descript: neither short nor tall, pretty nor plain. She’s got a mid-length dirty-blond ponytail, green-blue eyes, wide hips, and a curvy little belly. Her legs are white like they’ve never seen sun, but her face and arms are a cheery tan. She walks up to their table with a somewhat forced smile that hurts to look at and Lance just knows he needs to do something to make her smile for real.

“Hi, my name’s Lauren, I’ll be your server today. Can I start you guys off with something to drink?”

Keith looks up at Lauren with one of his polite ‘I don’t really people’ smiles. “Hey. Water without ice is good for me, thank you.”

“Water, no ice. Got it,” she repeats to herself, “and for you?”

“Name’s Lance. And what have you guys got with lots of sugar in it?”

She takes a half second to think, probably wondering why he didn’t read the menu. “Well, we’ve got Coke, Diet Coke, Pepsi, 7 Up, Fanta, Root Beer, lemonade, and three flavors of Lyn-Lyns.”

Lance smiles up at her brightly and pretends to be overwhelmed with options. “So much to choose from.”

Lauren chuckles a bit. “You like soda, do you?”

He grins. “I like sugar. Maybe too much.”

“Oh same,” says Lauren, “I’ve got a bit of a Dr. Pepper problem, not gonna lie.”

Lance laughs. “Well, I’m thinking a Lyn-Lyn. You surprise me with a flavor. I trust your taste.”

“Oh I wouldn’t if I were you,” Lauren says dubiously, “remember, _Dr. Pepper?_ ”

“An under-rated drink. My faith in you stands.”

“Well, I hope you have no regrets,” says Lauren. She gives him a real smile and Lance finds himself beaming back at her like an idiot. She’s really quite attractive when she isn’t busy being terrified of her customers. Lance knows the ‘I’m new at this’ grimace like the back of his hand. It doesn’t really work for anyone.

When he turns back to look at Keith, he finds his friend looking back at him somewhat bemused. Or at least he _thinks_ Keith is bemused. If he’s being completely honest, he’s not quite sure _what_ that look is; Keith’s lips are quirked in kind of an odd way, not quite a frown but not quite a smile either. His eyes are sharp but distant, like he’s trying to read between lines of some complicated poem. His hand has stilled on the napkin, covering a half formed drawing of a boy with his head in his hands.

“What?” Lance asks eventually, “what are you staring at?”

“You, I think,” says Keith.

Lance blushes for no good reason. That’s just a very typical Keith answer. “Why?”

But Keith resumes his drawing without another word, trailing the tip of his pen along the outside edge of something that quickly become the boy’s crossed legs. Lance isn’t sure why, but he feels like he relates to the boy in Keith’s drawing on a personal level, like it’s somehow a sketch of how he looks in his mind.

Lauren comes back with their drinks; a boring old glass of water for Keith and a Juicy Pear Lyn-Lyn for Lance. She sets them down in front of their respective recipients.

“Thank you,” says Keith, only looking up from his drawing to be polite.

Lance on the other hand, grins up at her brightly. “Amazing choice Lauren. Bold and classic. I like it.”

She blushes. “Uhh…thanks. I try.”

He takes a sip. “ _Mmm_ …I may need two.”

Still smiling, Lauren takes a little pad of paper out of her apron pocket. “Are you guys ready to order yet, or do you need a few more minutes?”

Keith glances across the table at Lance. His eyes say, ‘I don’t know. Are you ready?’

And well, since Lance was always just going to ask Lauren what she’d pick, he supposes he is ready. “Sure,” says Lance without bothering to look down at the menu again, “I’ll have whatever you recommend.”

Lauren’s face flushes. “I really don’t think…”

“Come on, you’ve nailed it so far. What’s good?”

“Well, the barbeque burger is my personal favorite. But…I dunno…do you like spicy?”

“Girl, I like all things hot.” Lance somehow manages _not_ to wink, but it doesn’t make much of a difference. Lauren’s face goes beet red and Keith snorts from across the table. _Oops?_ He continues to smile anyways. “I love burgers. They give me a chance to break out some of my better puns.”

“Oh, here we go,” says Keith folding one arm over the table and resting his chin in the opposite hand. Lance has his full attention now which is oddly encouraging even as Lauren blinks at him kind of blankly.

“How did the burger propose to the French fry?” Lance starts.

Lauren looks at Keith briefly for help. She gets nothing. “…Umm…on his knee?”

“With an onion ring.” This time, Lance does wink. He gets a snort out of Keith and a pity chuckle out of Lauren. “Ok, ok, here’s another one: why did the burger go to the gym?”

“Don’t…” Keith starts warningly.

“To get better BUNS!” says Lance.

And Lauren laughs. “That’s pretty terrible.”

“Glad you liked it,” says Lance.

“Ok, so one barbeque burger. And for you?” she turns to Keith.

“I’ll get the haddock please,” says Keith, “no tartar sauce though. Thank you.”

“And will these be on one tab or two?”

“One,” says Keith.

“Amazing.” Lauren finishes writing stuff down before looking up from her papers and smiling at them. “I’ll be back in just a minute.”

When Lauren heads off towards the swing door at the back of the diner, Keith goes back to his sketching. He stares so intently at his drawing that Lance isn’t sure he won’t accidently set the whole thing on fire. His hand moves swiftly and practiced, but with a kind of laziness, like he isn’t paying much attention to what he’s doing at all. Lance suspects he’s being ignored on purpose.

“Whatcha make’n?” he asks eventually.

“A drawing,” says Keith dryly.

Lance rolls his eyes. “Yes, I can see that.”

“I’m not ignoring you… _exactly_.”

“Then exactly what _are_ you doing?”

“Thinking.”

“Ah.” _Because that explains so much_.

Lance takes that as his cue to study Keith more closely. The guy is actually as inscrutable as he pretends to be—which is super annoying by the way—but Lance has learned a bit of how to read between the lines. If you want to know what Keith is really thinking, you have to watch his eyes, his hands, and his cheeks. So Lance goes to work. He watches Keith’s sketching hand hold the pen a little too loosely, which means he’s distracted. Watches him hide his eyes behind a curtain of hair, which means he doesn’t want you to see what he’s feeling. And Lance watches the tips of his little even ears turn slightly red, which means he’s either flustered or angry. Maybe both. With Keith it’s usually both.

Like a good detective, Lance takes his evidence and formulates a hypothesis. Option one: Keith isn’t feeling well. Which is really not that unusual for him. Keith is basically allergic to the combination of hot sunny days and hard work. Option two: Keith is daydreaming. Option two is _highly_ unlikely. Option three…

“Give it a rest, Lance,” says Keith.

Lance folds his arms over his chest even though he’s aware he’s dangerously close to pouting. “Why are you ignoring me then?”

“I already told you I’m not. I’m…”

Lauren comes back with their dinner. She drops it off on the table with a quick, ‘enjoy,’ and wanders off to her next table. She gives Lance a cautious smile over her shoulder, and when Lance goes to wave back at her, a thought suddenly strikes him. And when it does, words are out of his mouth before his better judgement has a chance to catch up with him.

“Wait…are you _jealous?_ ” he asks.

Keith just blinks at him for a second as the question sinks in. When it does, Lance is treated to one of his deadass smirks. “And here I thought you’d had enough fantasy talk for one day.” But even though his tone is dry and his words almost cutting, Lance still thinks he sees a little flush of pink creeping into Keith’s cheeks.

 _I have you now you little asshole_. “ _Admit it_ ,” Lance jokes, “you’re jealous.”

“I’m vaguely amused,” says Keith with an heir of indifference, as if he knows somethings Lance doesn’t. Keith ignores his dinner and goes back to drawing. That aristocratic _asshole_.

Not that Lance hasn’t learned how to deal with him by now mind you. The trick to breaking Keith is to keep at it; to become increasingly ridiculous until he snaps and gives in. And Lance is a _master_ of this particular technique. So, he steals one of Keith’s french-fries right off his plate, folds his arms over the table, and pops it in his mouth with a big mocking grin. “It’s OK, I won’t flirt if it bothers you so much.”

Finally, Keith looks up at him with his piercing eyes and unimpressed pout. “Really? We’re doing this?”

“I mean…”

“Because if you must know,” Keith starts, folding his free hand over the drawing one, “I don’t really mind.” Lance is about to protest when Keith continues; “I think it’s nice of you to try to put Laruen at ease. Lord knows I wasn’t about to do it.”

 _Wait what?_ “How did you…?”

Keith keeps going. “Besides, you don’t flirt with anyone else quite the same way as you flirt with me, so really, I don’t see what there is to be jealous of.”

And… _that_ isn’t quite what Lance was expecting; maybe a flippant denial, maybe another blush, or maybe even a stuttering confession if he was _really_ lucky, but no. Keith is far too cool for that kind of thing. His approach is to make a frank statement of fact; to compliment Lance even as he calls him out on his nonsense. Which is honestly way more… _Keith_ …than any of the scenarios Lance had planned out in his head. And he finds himself on the other end of the ‘stuttering denial’ equation.

He feels exposed. And embarrassed. Caught out in the open because Keith isn’t as clueless as he’d thought. Sure Lance has been flirting with him for months, but that was supposed to be a secret. Keith wasn’t supposed to figure it out—nobody was—because Lance isn’t good enough for him. So even though Keith is ‘technically’ correct, he’s going to deny it.

Before conscious thought kicks in, Lance flings himself into the stiff plastic cushions stapled to the back of the bench. “What?!” he demands, “I do _not_ flirt with you.”

Keith gives him that ‘you’re an idiot’ look he does so well. “Pretty sure teasing, setting up fake rivalries, and ‘canoodling’ during our breaks counts as flirting, Lance. Also carting me back and forth from the couch, but who’s counting?”

“ _WHAT?_ That is not flirting!”

“So, it’s denial then.”

“No!” Lance almost shrieks while Keith continues to stare at him flatly unimpressed. “Carrying you around and dropping you on the couch is entirely practical!”

“I see.”

“I have never met anyone as accident prone as you. Like seriously, it’s a problem. And as your friend, it would be wrong of me to let you eat carpet all the time.”

“You’re a real gentleman.”

“Thank you.”

Keith’s eyes narrow ever so slightly, pinning Lance in place. “So you’re sure you haven’t been flirting with me?”

“Absolutely not!” Lance shakes his head vehemently, “that… _that_ back there was me flirting.”

“No. That was you embarrassing yourself.”

“Keith!”

And god damnit! Doesn’t Keith ever pull his punches? Can’t he ever just let well enough alone? Nope. Obviously. Because that would be the _nice_ thing to do.

Keith goes back to his drawing, finally looking at something besides Lance. Not that it helps much. “So your weirdness around me is merely out of platonic interest?”

 _“Yes!”_ Lance insists.

“Uh-huh.”

“You…” Lance shakes his head slowly as if to clear it, “you are the worst.”

Keith merely shrugs. “It’s a game I have with myself. So far, I’m batting a thousand.”

“You…are an asshole.” Which might be the truest thing Lance has said throughout this _entire_ conversation. _Stupid Mullets_.

Lance leans back into the booth as he takes a bite out of his burger. He fixes his eyes out the window to avoid making eye contact with Keith. Which seems a little silly even to him because he’s just looking out into the parking lot at a white pickup truck and a non-descript hybrid. The sun has already dipped just below the horizon and the sky is now a faded gradient of soft purples and blues; but as far as evening skies go, this one is unremarkable. So in short, there’s nothing out the window worth his attention and he knows it.

And Keith probably knows it too. But for now, he’s opting to continue sketching on the napkin in silence. Lance can hear the muted scrape of a pen on paper. Keith is completely distracted, and Lance doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Mostly, it’s making him squirm.

His insides feel tight. It’s like his body it too small for him and he’s going to burst from the inside out. How long has Keith known about his ‘little crush’? Why hasn’t he said anything? Has Lance made their friendship awkward? Can they still hang out like they used to? Wait…does Keith…does he _maybe_ feel the same way? Was _that_ why he went all quiet and thoughtful? Is this…is this a date? Was Lance flirting with the waitress on their _date?_ Because if he was, then that’s just rude! Even if he hadn’t meant a single thing by it—even if Keith seems to think that Lance was just trying to be nice to a frightened diner-girl—that’s still rude. And if he _is_ on a date with Keith, does that mean he broke his promise to Nyma? Like for real; not just in his head.

 _Stop it,_ Lance tells himself, _be realistic. That’s not what’s happening here. Get a fucking grip!_ _Back the fuck up_.

Lance isn’t breaking any promises because he is _not_ on a date with Keith.

God this is so awkward.

“Nothing has to happen you know,” says Keith eventually. And Lance turns his head away from the window to face Keith’s perfectly calm eyes. “It’s fine. I know you’ve been…waiting…for someone.”

“Wait what?”

_Literally, why does he know everything?_

Lance hadn’t even been aware he’d eaten his whole burger like a ravenous wolf until it’s suddenly gone, and his mouth is on barbeque _fire_. He almost finishes off his soda in one go and Keith pushes his basket of fries across the table for Lance to pick at. And Lance supposes he should be grateful—ordinarily he would be—but with the way his brain is working overtime right now, he isn’t sure he can manage not to over-analyze the simple gesture.

Whatever. Put the Nyma thing on the backburner. There are more important thigs to think about. More important and more immediate questions to answer:

Does this whole thing here mean that Keith likes him? Or does it mean he doesn’t like him? Because Lance is kinda getting mixed messages.

“I said, ‘we’re fine’ Lance,” says Keith, completely unconcerned. “No need to get worked up about anything. But I’m not…I’m not an idiot either. I’m not _blind._ ”

Lance finds himself shaking his head again and stuffing a few fries in his mouth. He has to give his brain a chance to catch up to Keith’s mouth. He ends up swallowing too soon and the fries stick painfully in his throat for a moment. He coughs his way through the rest of his drink while Keith watches him with one eyebrow quirked towards his hairline.

“You OK, Lance?”

Finally, _finally_ Lance can talk again. “I wasn’t flirting with you.”

“It’s not a big deal,” says Keith.

“I wasn’t flirting with you,” Lance maintains, if only to save face in his own mind. He pauses then and looks carefully at Keith. “But if I _did_ flirt with you, what would you say?”

“I’d laugh,” says Keith.

“Figures,” says Lance.

“But I’d flirt back.”

Wait…he would? Keith? Beautiful, sassy, clever, badass, adorable Keith would flirt with _him?_ Him as in Lance Eric McClain: the resident goofball, the gangly guy with noodle arms, the fool who talks nonsense 24/7 because he doesn’t know how to just _stop!_

“Wait you _would?_ ” And Lance hates the way his voice sounds small and hopeful. _This isn’t real; this has to be a dream, right?_

Keith rolls his eyes, while hitting the nail on the head as he always does. “I’m not out of your league you know.”

Once again, Lance feels exposed. Once again, he goes on the defensive. “What…” he sputters, “of course you’re not out of my league! You have a mullet for fuck sake! It’s hideous. I’m way too cool for mullets!”

“OK Lance.” And is the asshole _laughing_ at him? The audacity!

“It’s _true!_ Why do you think I braid if for you every morning? It’s so I don’t have to look at that atrocity!”

“Sure Lance.”

“It haunts my nightmares!”

“I’m sure.”

“It _does_. No one has a mullet these days. NO. ONE.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So if anything, I’m out of _your_ league.”

“Glad we cleared that up.”

“Stop sassing me! I’m serious! I am the handsomest, funniest, coolest, most-best catch in the entire WORLD!”

“Yep.”

Sketch, sketch, sketch. Keith’s drawing is almost finished. Lance hates how he can have this kind of emotionally charged conversation and remain so totally cool about it; even to the point of finishing off a drawing that would make Salvador Dali _drool_. It’s like he’s not even paying attention. Lance has a mind to rip that stupid pen out of Keith’s hand and force him to actually pay attention to what’s being said.

“Aren’t you going to contradict me?” Lance demands.

“No,” says Keith evenly.

“Don’t you have some cutting comeback to bring me down to earth again?”

“No.”

“So you’re just going to sit there and let me flatter myself over here?”

Keith looks up from his drawing with a challenging expression and furrowed eyebrows. “Do you _want_ me to contradict you?”

And Lance might actually have to think about that. “Yes…no…just…” he only just restrains himself from pulling out his hair, “what are you thinking? Sometimes I just can’t read you and it’s fucking terrifying. I feel like you’re silently judging me or something.”

Keith gives him another deadass look. “Lance, I judge you out loud.”

“Not all the time!” Lance protests in that panicked self-destructive way he mastered so long ago. “I know you want to sass me right now.”

“No.”

“Yes!”

“No.”

Lance can’t take it anymore. “I can _literally_ see you thinking over there. You’re ready to explode and tell me I’m an idiot for thinking those things. That there’s no way I’m the handsomest, funniest, coolest…whatever, and…”

Keith slams his pen against the tabletop rattling the plates. “No!” he snaps, “I’m ready to explode and tell you you’re an idiot for thinking otherwise! I know you’re cool. I know you’re the handsomest, funniest, bestest catch in the whole fucking world; the only one out of the two of us who has an issue with that is _you_.”

The statement leaves Lance’s head reeling. There’s an ache in his throat where a sob might be, and a burn behind his eyes where tears might liv. Because he wasn’t emotionally prepared for this. Because maybe he wanted Keith to kind of flirt with him, maybe wanted to know if he’d actually have a shot with Keith, but he never really thought he’d get an answer. Certainly not like this; not on a ‘not-quite-date’ in the middle of a run-down diner on Dibazzal Street.

_He thinks I’m cool? He thinks I’m good enough?_

Lance can’t even begin to fathom the implications of that realization. Because if Keith—smooth, cool, sarcastic Keith—can like Lance just as he is, then his whole dating life has been based on a _lie_. If Keith knows him and understands him and likes him, then that means Nyma isn’t the only one who will ever be right for him after all. It means, Lance doesn’t have to wait for her. It means…a lot of things. Keith has opened a window into Lance’s mind and flooded his heart with sunlight. Suddenly the darkest corners are bright again. And it hurts. He doesn’t know why it hurts, or really what hurts, but something does. Something hurts terribly.

But if Lance isn’t handling this conversation very well, it’s clear that Keith isn’t either. Whatever was on his mind earlier—whatever had driven him to silence when they first sat down at their table—has driven him almost to the point of scribbling out his whole drawing. His hand is clenched on the pen as he digs the tip of it into the paper napkin, tearing little trenches along the outside edge. His face is as blank as ever, hidden behind a curtain of bangs, but Lance knows better than to leave this alone.

He pushes his own feelings aside for a moment and slides the napkin gently out from under Keith’s hand. “I think your drawing is finished,” he says.

“Since when are _you_ an artist?” Keith snorts.

Lance flashes him one of his theatrical smiles. “I have _many_ hidden talents.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“Do _not_ even go there,” Keith deadpans. But his lips quirk upward for a split second. Then he looks thoughtful again as his eyes travel back down to the pen in his hand. “I feel like we should deal with…this…while it’s out in the open…because otherwise…we’ll leave it to lie until it blows up in our faces.”

Even Lance’s theatrical smile can’t survive the weight of that statement. But he’s determined to try because he thinks they’re both too emotionally exhausted to deal with _anything_ at this point. “We’ll figure things out,” he offers, pushing Keith’s untouched dinner towards him, “but for now, you need to eat something. We didn’t come here just for you to deface the napkins.”

Keith stares down at the plate of cold fish like it personally offends him before looking back up at Lance. “We’re still friends,” he says simply.

And Lance feels a genuine smile tugging at the aching corners of his lips and at the weary strings of his heart. “Duh. We’re still friends. We’re best friends.”

A nod. “Then you believe me when I say you’re good enough to have anyone you fucking chose?”

“We’re not quite there yet,” Lance jokes.

“Fair enough,” says Keith almost to himself, then adds in a louder voice, “two things: Lance, you deserve to be happy. And you don’t owe anyone anything.”

Lance leaves Keith to pick through his food. He idly studies the drawing Keith sketched out on the sorry little diner napkin. It’s a boy hovering in mid air with his head in his hands. There are faces in the void around him—mean faces, happy faces, sad faces, stony faces—but the boy’s blank smile filters through the cracks of his fingers. Lance feels understood.

He looks back at Keith whose emotional state has done a complete 180 degree turn around and he’s back to looking like his asshole self again. When Lauren comes back with their check, he pays for them both, and slides out of the booth.

“Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” says Keith.

Knowing Keith hasn’t realized that his phone fell out of his back pocket and landed the booth bench behind him, or that his wallet is still on the table, Lance grabs them both for him. This, at least, is normal. He follows Keith out into the Florida evening air.

He wants to wrap his arm around Keith’s shoulders as they head for the car—and he thinks Keith would let him too—but he knows himself too well. He has no self-control when he’s scrubbed emotionally raw, and left to his own devices, that’s when he initiates spontaneous make-out sessions. Which sounds kind of good right now, but this is Keith fucking Kogane he’s out with, and the last thing Lance wants to do is screw things up by acting on foolish impulses. If there was ever anyone Lance wanted to do things the right way with, it’s Keith. So he represses the urge—even though he’ll be jacking off later for sure—and slides into the passenger seat with nothing more than a snide comment about Billy Joel.

For Keith, Lance will do things right. Take some things a little slower than he would. For himself, he will stop procrastinating self-discovery so that he can become the person he wants to be.

There are no shortcuts. Every trust earned, ever faith believed in, and every lesson learned, will have its time.

* * *

“I’ll wait for you,” Lance had promised, “I’ll wait for as long as it takes for you to find yourself.”

When he’d said those words to Nyma during their third breakup 8 months ago, he’d meant them. He’d meant them utterly and completely. And he’d been so in love with her at the time—so enraptured with every part of her—that he thought waiting for her was the only thing he _could_ do. That it was the only thing he would ever _be able_ to do. Back then, he couldn’t imagine ever feeling for anyone what he felt for Nyma Rossi.

Because they shared everything: every dream, every doubt, every fear, and every sorrow. They understood each other. They were cut from the same cloth. He thought that she was the only one who could ever understand him. The only one who could put up with him in the long term. 

For eight months, Lance has waited for Nyma; waited for her to find what she needs apart from him so that they can come back together. For eight months he has held onto the thread of hope she gave him. For eight months he has supported her from the sidelines. For eight months, he has held his heart in reserve.

For six of those months, it was easy. For six of those months, his heart was as faithful as his hands.

For two of those months, he’s broken his promise.

For one of those months, he’s admitted it.

For a week he’s known he likes Keith more than he misses Nyma.

And _that_ is a terrifying discovery to have made. It throws a monkey wrench into all the life plans Lance has made for the past two years of his life. Because how can he still want to marry someone when he likes someone else so much more? He can’t. Obviously. Falling for Keith the way he has—even if he hasn’t really done anything yet—renders all his future hopes and plans with Nyma moot. Moot inasmuch as logically, his plans no longer seem plausible. It is silly to hold your body and mind in reserve for someone you do not love and do not wish to love.

The situation is complicated; there are so many threads to untangle that Lance doesn’t even know where to begin. So, he’s going to pull a Keith; he’s going to just look at the facts. Everything boils down to this: Keith has shown him—has been showing him from the moment they met—that Nyma Rossi is _not_ the only person who will ever understand him. She is not the only person he will even be good enough for. She is not the only person who can give him what he needs. And she is not the only person that Lance will ever love.

Lance does not need Nyma. She does not need him.

So he puts his broken promise behind him, and takes her headbands and lip-gloss out of his pockets for good. He sets them on the kitchen counter beside Hunk’s compost Tupperware and leaves them to rest. Then he pulls Keith’s napkin drawing out of his other pocket and sticks it to the refrigerator with a little blue magnet. He steps back to look at the boy in the drawing and understands.

“When did you get home ma man?” Hunk asks. He steps into the kitchen with his big socked feet, wearing his favorite Sugar Rush sweatshirt, and holding an empty tea-mug in one hand. He glances down at his phone briefly as he shuffles past Lance to the sink. “It’s already almost ten O’clock.”

“Keith dropped me off around eight thirty,” says Lance, “I’ve just been chillin’ on the front steps.”

Hunk shoots him a vaguely worried glance as he washes out his mug. “What were you doing on the steps?”

“Thinking,” says Lance.

“You know that’s bad for your health,” Hunk teases.

“Tell me about it.”

Hunk grabs the cookie tin off the top of the refrigerator and pours himself a glass of chocolate milk. He leans back against the countertop with one arm wrapped around the cookie tin and with the other free to snack.

The lights around the house are low; the kitchen is dimly bathed in the white glow from the lamp over the sink, and Livingroom is dark as well, lit only by the soft yellow wash coming though Hunk’s bedroom door. Pidge is watching something on her laptop in her room and the distant sound of clanging swords adds a nice medieval ambiance to the mostly 21 Century house. Hunk munches away on his homemade molasses cookies contentedly, waiting for Lance to elaborate in such a way that speaking feels optional.

Lance perches himself on the counter beside his friend even though Pidge would be furious that his ‘filthy ass’ is sitting on a communal surface. Whatever. Hunk won’t tell—not when he does it during one of their late-night kitchen talks—that how the Bro Code works. So, he bends forward just enough to pinch a cookie from the tin and leans back to take a few non-committal bites. Eventually, he speaks.

“You know how Nyma broke up with me a while back?” he says.

“Yeah?” says Hunk.

“Well, I broke up with her tonight.” Lance stares at the cookie in his hand. That probably made more sense to him than it did to Hunk. “What I mean is, I’m over her. I’m not waiting for her anymore.”

Hunk takes a moment to either think or chew, it’s hard to know which. “Good for you man. That wasn’t a fair promise to start with. I always thought it was silly of you to make it and mean of her to hold you to it.”

“I know you did,” says Lance, “I just…I don’t think I was ready to listen to you. Ya know?”

Hunk nods in understanding. “I know.”

“But I think I get it now. Nyma isn’t the only one I’ll ever be good enough for.”

“Hardly. If anything, she’s not good enough for _you._ ”

“Well, I don’t know about that exactly, but…”

“I do.”

“But…I don’t know. I just thought you should know.”

Hunk smiles. “I’m super happy to hear that Bud. You don’t know how long Pidge and I have been waiting for you to get that through your head.”

Lance laughs. “A while I imagine.”

“A while,” Hunk agrees. “So, if you don’t mind my asking, what made you figure it out?”

“Keith.” As these conversations usually go, one words answers won’t really fly. But in this case, Lance thinks it works just fine. That one name answers everything.

A wide, almost teasing grin permeates the softness of his friend’s face. “So you’re not in denial anymore?”

“I never was,” says Lance, and he realizes now that he kind of means it, “I just found some reasons to… _hope_ …I guess.”

Pidge suddenly pops into the kitchen with her laptop in both hands. She’s got her antique green headphones around her neck, Matt’s UFT tee-shirt falling to her knees, and her Pikachu slippers hanging off her toes. Her mouth opens slightly as gapes at Lance with both pride and disbelief. “So does this mean you two _finally_ made out?”

“NO!” Lance lobs a cookie her way. “We just bonded; you Gutter Gremlin.”

“So…you fucked then,” says Pidge. And Hunk chokes on his chocolate milk.

“NO! I’m still figuring shit out.”

“ _Right_ …” Pidge winks while Hunk laughs out loud like a traitor.

And seriously, why does Lance even _have_ such friends?

* * *

**[Today, 10:43 PM]**

**ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Hey, thanks for dinner man. My tummy and my wallet are very happy

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Sure thing

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** I had a great time

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Not quite what I thought would happen but I’m glad you don’t hate me

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** I could never hate you

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Debatable

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** I’m not going to respond to that

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** But seriously, what DID you think would happen?

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** I thought we’d eat dinner like a civilized human and a civilized mermaid

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** I think we were pretty civilized

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Debatable

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** I hate you

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Wait no! I don’t hate you. I don’t hate you at all

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** OK Lance

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** I don’t!

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** I know

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** But you ARE infuriating tho

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** I know

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** But I really did want to thank you. I think you helped me see some things that I hadn’t figured out before. Or at least stuff I didn’t appreciate

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Glad I could help

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Like you know how I told about how I was waiting for me and Nyma to get back together?

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Yeah

I’m over her now. I used to think that it had to be her and me because I wasn’t good enough for anyone else. But now I don’t think that’s true

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** That’s a sad thing to think

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Yeah, kinda. But I’m not sad now

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** I’m happy for you then

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Thanks Keith. For everything. You’re pretty amazing

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** I know

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** You asshole

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** B)

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Good night, Sparkle Princess

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Mermaid

 **ShutUpAndLanceWithMe:** Good night Sparkle Mermaid Princess

 **Nota_fucking_Mermaid:** Good night Lance

With a smile he can’t quite smother, Keith shoves his phone into the pocket of his pajama pants and pours himself another shot of whiskey out of the still built into the back of Antock’s truck. He dodges Ulaz and Mary who haven’t learned not to Jitter Bug in their 70’s, on the way back to his seat by the fire.

Tonight is one of those nights when a spontaneous street party just happens right in the middle of the Luxite Trailer Park. This time, they’re gathered in the little gap between trailers, which might double as a street if anyone went out, drinking and shouting and setting off strings of BlackCats with their cigarette lighters. Sheb Wooley songs are playing on Peggy’s old Walkman under Keith’s chair as the guys drain the still dry. General Kolivan is drunkenly belting out the National Anthem while Captain Thace strums _Old Suzanna_ on his 7 iron—at least, he _says_ he’s playing _Old Suzanna_.

“What’s got you smiling like a love-sick girl over there?” Colonel Antock demands. He pulls another can of beer from the cooler beside his wheelchair and pops the thing open with a hiss.

Across from him and a little to his right, Keith leans forward in his lawn chair and stokes the fire with a long stick. He hides his eyes behind his bangs and hopes to Poseidon that the cheery glow of the fire covers the flush in his cheeks. Caught on a gust of warm night air, smoke blows back in his face as he sits back just a bit. Keith opts to pretend he didn’t hear the question. Not that it helps any.

Swinging his golfclub over one shoulder like an unloaded rifle, Captain Thace is suddenly standing before them across the fire. “Who’s smiling like a love-struck girl?” he demands. Keith doesn’t need to read his mind to be able to tell that the man is drunk as a skunk, even in the flickering red light of the fire.

“Keith is,” says Antock, “grinning like he’s hiding secret love notes in his underwear.”

“Who’s hiding love notes in their underwear?” Ulaz suddenly shouts from a few feet away.

“There will be no love underwear in my trailer park,” slurs Kolivan, “it’s un-American!”

“No, I’m pretty sure making love in your underwear is how you do it,” says Mary.

“Wong!” Peggy takes a healthy swallow of bad whiskey as she strides over to join the conversation. “You make love while you’re naked!”

“Now _that’s_ American,” says Thace.

And then someone, probably Kolivan, starts singing _My Country Tis of Thee_ while Thace pledges allegiance to the local Strip Joint.

“Wait! But who’s hiding love notes in their underwear?” Ulaz shouts.

“Keith! _Duh_ ,” says Antock.

“Why is _Keith_ hiding love notes in his underwear?” Ulaz demands.

“I’m _NOT_ ,” says Keith. He rolls his eyes. “That’s just all kinds of _why_. Like seriously, how the fuck did you people even come up with that idea in the first place!?”

“Because we’re drunk as skunks,” says Peggy, “obviously.”

General Kolivan stops singing patriotic songs long enough to give Keith a _very_ disappointed look. “We’ll have none of your evasive humbug. Now out with it soldier; spill the beer!”

Keith snorts into his cup of homebrew. “I believe the term is, ‘spill the tea’.”

“Tea is un-American,” says Kolivan, “spill the beer.”

Keith rolls his eyes as he sets the cup down on the grass between his feet. Resting his elbows on his knees, he assumes the authority of a storyteller. And a sarcastic one at that. “Well it all started one day on the beach when I met this dufus who thought I was a girl…”

“We know this part. Antock won’t shut up about it,” Ulaz interrupts, “get to the part with the _love notes_.”

“There are no love notes,” says Keith matter-of-factly.

“Then why did Antock say there were?” asks Ulaz.

“Because he’s an old man with nothing better to talk about,” says Peggy.

“Because he has a perverted sense of humor,” says Keith.

Antock snorts. “We all know the kid’s got a crush on that Lance character. I’m just think’in there’s somethin’ happnin’ there to make him smile like that.”

“No love notes,” says Keith.

“Boring,” says Ulaz.

“But who knows, maybe one day,” says Keith. “Maybe one day isn’t as far off as I thought.” His voice trails off at the end as he picks up the cup by his feet again and finishes it off in one go. “Anyways, Lance still has some stuff to think about and the General still owes me some BlackCats.”

“You’re _sure_ there’s nothing going on with you and Lance?” Ulaz asks, suspicion dripping from his voice.

“I never said there wasn’t,” says Keith.

He winks; and reaches under his seat to turn up the volume on Peggy’s Walkman. The swinging 60’s classic _Flying Purple People Eater_ comes over loud and clear, and the adults take that as their cue to go back to the party. Keith stands up, gliding between bodies till he’s within rage to slip a string of BlackCat firecrackers from over the General’s shoulder. Kolivan doesn’t register the theft until it’s too late and Keith has already thrown the whole string into the firepit. The little firecrackers go off in quick succession, almost directly on top of each other like a benign little bomb.

It’s a very satisfying sound. And it oddly sums up the way Keith tends to handle delicate situations, like his conversation with Lance. Fortunately, Lance isn’t the wilting flower Nyma would have them all believe; he can handle Keith’s lack of tact. And _that_ takes a very strong kind of person indeed.

Keith hadn’t meant to have that conversation tonight. In fact, he’d never meant to have that conversation with Lance at all. He’d been hoping Lance would figure all of that stuff out on his own without the interference of someone with possible ulterior motives—ie. someone like Keith who would very much like to date him. Still, Keith won’t say he’s disappointed with this turn of events. Listening to Lance’s self-deprecating thoughts everyday is a bit much. Especially when all he wants to do is scream at the idiot and tell him he’s perfect.

 _Oh Lance, I wish you could see the you I see_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, 
> 
> Here's another fun chapter; focused more on Lance as I promised. I know things aren't moving as fast as I'd planned, but some things take time. Getting over toxic people and learning to reinvent yourself isn't somethings that you can just push. Anyways, thanks for making it all the way to chapter with us. I hope you're enjoying the story.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed. If you liked the art from this fanfic, please check out/repost from Alex AKA. my partner in crime, at the links above. If you're so inclined, I'd love to hear your thoughts considering I'm not sure I've thought this whole mess through XD
> 
> Thanks again, and stay awesome :)
> 
> Ghostwriter_Red


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